soo for a little background: writing has always been my space. not just a hobby, itโs truly a place where thoughts take shape, unravel, a safe space that doesn't ask me to perform. most of my hours belong elsewhere, such as lectures, research, volunteering, the beautiful and consuming chaos of being a university student.
but the rest? the rest is yours!
when i'm here, expect atmosphere. i write what i studyโpsychology, neuroscience, philosophy, and the spiritual weight of being human. as for what i writeโit's a melting pot of Creepypasta and VNs (visual novels). whatever catches my interest and holds it.
noticed: no longer writing for TKATB or TFC in this time being.
แญเฝฒเผแฏเพ โ another quick intro, iโm yaya, a writer/researcher and a university student studying psychology/pre-med track, currently in my FOURTH year. iโve loved writing since i was little and never really stopped.
if you see my work posted anywhere else, it isnโt me.
i write ONLY on tumblr and steer clear of ao3, curses be damned. adding on, this space is 18+. all of it. SFW only means โsafe to view in public,โ not โmade for minors.โ NSFW is explicit. either way, this blog is built for mature adults audiences.
if you are a minor, do not interact, send me inky asks/whisper and, absolutely do not message me. i am not responsible for you choosing to ignore warnings to read my work because you believe youโre mature enough to handle it.
also, if you are easily offended by dark themes, heavy psychology, or morally messy content, this will not be comfortable for you.
curate your space accordingly. my page, my rules.
แญเฝฒเผแฏเพ . ๐๐๐๐
โโ .๊ฉ ย first things first, worried about my writing or posting schedule? lovely of you. tragic, though, because there isnโt one. i used to run on a schedule and it burned me out so badly it practically turned to ash in my hands. lesson learned.
so here are the rules: do not message me asking when Iโm posting. i write when I can. I post when itโs ready. and donโt spam me. Iโm open to questions about my work, but keep it respectful.
no invasive or rude personal asks.
แญเฝฒเผแฏเพ. ๐ถ๐๐๐ ๐ท๐๐
๐พ๐๐๐ ๐ถ๐๐๐: FULLY OPEN!
these are ONLY for prompts (only character x reader), ideas, for drabbles or headcanons, writing advice, or psychology related discussions. if it connects to fiction, craft, or character minds, it belongs there.
donโt ask me personal/insensitive questions nor ask me to psychoanalyze you.
like, if you ever have to carefully think about your question AND it sounds disrespectful, refrain so, if you still do, i WILL delete it.
i ONLY analyze/write fictional characters. real people deserve real professionals. and i'm not professional yet, this is all for studying purposes. keep it creative. keep it respectful. think of something interesting.
also, a reminder: i do not write everything Iโm sent. i choose prompts that feel distinct, detailed, and layered enough for me to actually build with. Simple asks may can work, but it depends on whether they genuinely spark my interest.
if it doesnโt move me, I wonโt force it!
แญเฝฒเผแฏเพ. ๐๐-๐ป๐พ
now! about ko-fiโthis is optional and only for people who want something specific. it can only be (character x oc), or it can be characters i don't write anymore (like tkatb or other fandoms i've moved on from), or even existing fandoms i already write forโjust more personalized.
basically, a custom fanfic just for you.
แญเฝฒเผแฏเพ. ๐๐ถ๐๐๐พ๐๐๐
โโ .๊ฉ ย proceed with caution, dearies. as my writing tends to wander deep into the darkโpsychological trauma, morally gray choices, and unsettling territoryโbecause i learn in the world of psych and neuroscience every day. that academic brain bleeds into my writing, twisting it into something uncanny and heavy.
i am fully comfortable exploring explicit, graphic, and morally questionable content; you are responsible for your OWN exposure if you ignore the warnings and choose to stay.
iโm fully comfortable with graphic or morally questionable content; however, i am not responsible how you FEEL or THINK, if you ignore the WARNINGS above and choose to stay.
things i donโt write:
incest or stepcest, pro-shipping, pedophilia, pregnancy (nothing baby related), a/b/o, zoophilia, or anything related to the above. no exceptions.
things i do write:
character x reader (or OC for paid requests), pretty much everything that wasnโt mentioned in โthings I donโt writeโ but try to aim for dark content, sfw/nswf themes, smut including cannibalism, murder, dubcon, yandere dynamics, realism, psychological/neurological and morally gray behavior.
yes, i write fluff, smut, angst, and nearly EVERY tag under the sunโbut iโll admit it: smut is my favorite. itโs hilarious to write, and my brain refuses to apologize.
i write reader-insert only (fem, afab, or gn). i donโt write from a male pov or genitalia, so i stick with any other focused perspectives instead.ย
your thoughts and feedback are ALWAYS welcome, however again, hate or irrelevant criticism will be tossed straight into the voidโother words, deleted. this is a safe space for all minds and bodiesโtreat others the way you wish to be treated.
thank you again, truly, for all your support .แ
แญเฝฒเผแฏเพ. ๐๐ถ๐๐
โ .๊ฉ #yayamain: all my inkquills and enchanted entryways.
โ .๊ฉ #yayainkyheadcanons/#yayainkydrabbles: all my headcanons stuff.
โ .๊ฉ #yayathoughts/#yayainterests: a jumble of musings, murmurs, and mischievous blabbles.
โ .๊ฉ #yayaupdate: tidings, alerts, and morsels you ought to know.
โค โ iyayadonna, all rights reserved. โห แญเฝฒเผแฏเพ ๊ฉ ใโ .แ
me: every time I post or writing something, i constantly think about that one anon at the back of my brain in my inbox, asking me to write oneshots / more headcanons about V.
like i have failed you my dear... i'm so sorry, i will do you justice.
heyyy my dearies... apologies for the small absence! ๐ค
if you've been wondering what i've been up toโi've actually been enjoying my summer! (somehow i fell down a rabbit hole ofย odyssey, both the movie and the epic musical version. i know there's not much y'all know about me yet, but besides psychology and philosophy, i absolutely adore musicals and history. and oh my god, i've discovered something new that i'm obsessed with.)
anyway! i just realized i have THREE weeks left before returning to university hell. luckily, this fall semester's looking lighter, so i'll actually have some breathing room to write.
so you're probably wondering how things are gonna work around here for the next few weeks.
schedule?ย not really. but i'll try to post at least twice a weekโheadcanons or a oneshot depending on how i feel. i'll do my best not to disappear longer than a week.
creepypasta?ย hell yeah! fall's coming and creepypasta season starts in september. i'm returning to my roots.
other VNs or tkatb?ย probably not? unless a game absolutely blows my mind. and tkatb? sadly noโunless fantasia drops an updated version that wows me. for now, it stays as it is.
master lists for other games?ย i'll always make one for whatever i'm actively playing. if someone requests a oneshot for a game i'm somewhat familiar with, i'll tryโbut no master list. i don't want too many to keep up with.
what's changing overall?ย i'm scaling back to focus on my personal interests instead of writing for everything. i think that's why i keep disappearingโi get burnt out trying to keep up. so now i'm writing what actually excites me.
next i've got good news and bad news.
the bad news?ย i'm gonna stop writing about TFC. the writing phase has officially left me for it, sadly. plus, i just wanna enjoy it for once as a fan instead of a writer. i hope you all understand. apologies to everyone who sent me TFC requestsโi see you and i appreciate you. however it's better for me to step back instead of forcing myself to write about something i no longer have interest in.
the good news?ย THE INBOX IS OPEN AGAIN! if you've been patiently waiting for more Creepypasta, ADWD, or Killer Chat content... congrats, your time has finally come. those are the fandoms living in my head rent free right now, so expect to see a lot more of them!
and yeah that's my mini update, until next time ๐ค
แญเฝฒเผแฏเพ โโ Ink spun from my own fingertipsโplease donโt take, mirror, or rewrite it.
โ ๐ป๐๐ถ๐๐๐๐พ๐๐: 8394, 5012, 0204 and 2471 (๐๐ธ: 6.3k)
โ ๐๐ถ๐๐: oneshot/s ยท adwd x gn! reader ยท overworked ยท underfucked ยท emotional exhaustion ยท caretaking ยท hurt/comfort ยท touch starvation ยท praise kink ยท submissive ยท crying during sex ยท emotional release ยท breakdown ยท aftercare ยท fluff and angst ยท established relationship ยท soft smut.
โ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: from anon! originally asked for a 5012 oneshot but honestly? i figured everyone deserves a proper introduction. and maybe something a little spicier too.ย
โ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐พ๐: Simple as the title. Overworked? Absolutely. Underfucked? Painfully so. it's the classic case of these poor Reapers overworking themselves. So somewhere between the exhaustion and the unspoken tension, something's gotta give.
Casper had been staring at the same line of code for nine hours.
His eyes were dry, his neck was stiff, and his long white hair had escaped its usual neatness to hang in tangled strands around his face.ย
Three empty cup noodle containers sat in a neat row beside his keyboardโhis only meals in the past forty-eight hours. The screen glowed with lines of complex algorithms, a project he'd taken on voluntarily because no one else could do it, because he was the best, because if he didn't do it, who would?
His fingers moved across the keyboard in mechanical, precise movements. He'd stopped feeling hungry hours ago. Stopped feeling tired even longer before that. There was only the work, the endless, consuming work, the thing that gave him purpose and structure and a reason to keep existing.
He didn't hear you come in.
He didn't hear you set down the cup of tea beside his keyboard.
He didn't feel your hand on his shoulder until you spoke.
"Casper."
His fingers froze. He blinked, slow and confused, like he was surfacing from deep water. โYes sunshine?โ
"I said your name three times."
He turned his head to look at you. His red eyes were glassy, pupils dilated, dark circles carved deep beneath them. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. He probably hadn't.
"I was... I was almost finished," he said, his voice rough. "Just one moreโ"
"You were almost finished five hours ago." You crouched beside his chair, bringing yourself to his eye level. "When was the last time you stood up? Actually stood up, not just shifted in your chair?"
His mouth opened then closed. Did he really lose track of time?
"That's what I thought."
You reached out and closed his laptop. He made a soundโsomething between a protest and a whimperโbut he didn't open it again. His hands fell limp into his lap.
"You can't keep doing this to yourself," you said softly.
"I am fine. I am always fine."
"No, you're not." You reached up and tucked a strand of white hair behind his ear. "You're exhausted. You're running on empty. And you've been doing it for so long that you've forgotten you're allowed to stop."
He stared at you, his expression shifting from confusion to something more vulnerable. Something almost painful. "I don't... I don't know how to stop," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I stop, who will... who will handle all of this?"
"It can wait. You can't."
He let you pull him up from the chair. His legs were unsteady, his hand gripping yours like it was the only thing keeping him upright. You led him to his quarters, one slow step at a time, and he didn't argue. He didn't have the energy.
He sat while you knelt in front of him, looking up at his face. His eyes were glistening. There was something raw and exposed in his expression, like he was on the verge of something he couldn't name.
"I don't know what's happening to me," he said, his voice cracking. "I feel... I feel like I'm falling apart. Like I'm made of glass and I'm about to shatter."
"Then let me hold the pieces."
You reached up and cupped his face. He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. His skin was warm. He was shaking, fine tremors running through his body.
"I'm so tired," he whispered. "I'm so tired, and I don't know how to be anything else."
"You don't have to be anything else." You stroked his cheek with your thumb. "You just have to let someone take care of you. Just for a little while."
He opened his eyes. There was something fragile in them. Something that had been buried for so long.
"Take care of me please.โ he echoed, like the words were foreign.
โOf course, always.โ
He nodded, barely perceptible, and you pressed a kiss to his forehead.
"Good boy."
He's floored. Like completely, devastatingly floored. His long white hair is splayed across the pillow like a halo, his red eyes squeezed shut so tight they're probably seeing stars.ย
His handsโthose clever, capable hands that can write code and solve equations and do things you can't even begin to understandโare clutching the bedsheets like they're the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
"Oh, I can'tโ" He gasps, voice breaking. "I can't, I ca-nnn'tโ"
He throws his head back into the pillows, a sound tearing from his throat that's equal parts pleasure and pure, desperate overwhelm. He can't handle it. He literally cannot handle it. And he's not shy about letting you know.
You're on top of him, riding him slow and deep, and he's a wreck. The guy can't even open his eyes to watch you. No, seriouslyโhis face is actually tweaking. Twisting through expressions you've never seen on him before. Confusion. Ecstasy. Just mindless surrender.
It's so warm. So fucking warm. The heat of you wrapped around him is almost too much, warming his dick so nicely that he can barely feel it anymore.ย
If he could just look down, he'd catch sight of your sweet hole spurting onto his white happy trail whilst you bounce on his cock like you own itโlike you own him. You do, by the way. He just hasn't realized it yet.
Not that he'll look down. Not yet. No, he'll cum against his will, and he refuses to make a fool of himself. Haha. Like he isn't already.
Every time you drop your weight down on his barely restrained hips, his breath punches out of him. Every. Single. Time. Your silky hole clings to the base of his cock like it was made for him, and he's barely holding on.
First, the moaning. Pretty little sounds that spill from his lips like he can't help himself. High and needy and so fucking cute.
Then, when it gets too muchโwhen the pleasure tips over into something overwhelmingโthe pathetic, uncontrollable growling starts. He makes these sounds that are almost pissed off, like he's angry at how good it feels. Like his body is betraying him.
"yeah, yeah, itโ h'ohmygodโ"
He's gritting his teeth now. For a hot second, you actually think he might burst into tears beneath you. His face is doing that thingโthe scrunchy, reddening, I'm-about-to-lose-it thing.
He manages to hold it back. Barely. You feel proud, honestly. Especially with how he's breathing like he's been winded, chest heaving, every inhale a shuddering mess.
What a good little reaper.
Too bad this is only the first round out of the three you've planned. He's already hyperventilating. You're not going to tell him that, though. Gotta conserve that ego of his.
โAhhnn gonna make me pass outโ" he whines, his voice all breathy and wrecked. "fuck me more, ahโ not ready to cum but its too good, its too fucking much... oh noโ"
You lean down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, his nose, the corner of his flushed mouth. He groans, desperate, hands leaving the sheets to grab at your hips. His grip is almost bruising, but he doesn't push you faster. He just... holds on. Like you're the only thing keeping him from floating away.
โYou're so beautiful like this," you murmur against his ear. "all mine. all fucking mine." He keens. An actual whimper, high and needy. His hips buck up into you, chasing something he can't name, and you feel him twitch inside youโso close, so fucking close.
โPlease," he gasps. "please, IโI can'tโ"
โYou can. you can, baby. let go. Iโve got you."
He doesn't need to hear anything else.
He cums with a cry that's more sob than moan, his whole body arching off the bed as he spills inside you. You feel him pulsing, hot and thick, and you keep moving, keep riding him through it, because he deserves the full experience.
When he finally comes down, he's a shaking, panting mess. His red eyes flutter open, glassy and unfocused, and he stares up at you like you've just rewritten the laws of the universe.
โThat wasโ" He swallows, throat bobbing. โI did notโi was not expectingโ"
You smile, slow and satisfied. "we're not done yet."
His eyes go wide. โWhat?"
โYou heard me." You shift your hips, just a little. His cock, still half-hard, twitches inside you. "we've got two more rounds, Casper. think you can handle it?"
He opens his mouth. Closes it. His face flushes all the way to the tips of his ears. โโฆNo," he admits, voice small. "but I want to try."
He lasts longer in the second round. Makes it through the third with only a few broken sobs and one moment where he actually does cry, just a little, when you kiss him through it.
Afterward, he lies in a boneless heap, head on your chest, your fingers in his hair. He's too exhausted to speak. Too overwhelmed to move. He just... is.
"You're incredible but annoyingly persistent," he whispers, finally. "you know that? Just absolutely incredible."
๐๐. ๐ป๐ถ๐ท๐ธ | ๐ฝ/๐ฐ
5012's office was always immaculate.
Like everything in its place. Reports stacked with military precision. Pens aligned at perfect angles. The coffee cup sat centered on its coaster, untouched for hours. His uniform was pressed, his hair was styled, and his expression was carved from stone.
He had been like this for six days straight.
He didn't sleep. He didn't eat. He didn't stop.
There was too much to do. Trainees to manage. Reports to file. Disciplinary actions to process. The revolution had left the Underworld in chaos, and 5012 was one of the few Reapers who could be trusted to maintain order. He was the one who held the system together, the one who enforced the rules, the one who made sure everything ran with mechanical precision.
He didn't have time to rest. He didn't deserve to rest.
He sat at his desk, purple eyes fixed on the glowing screen, his fingers moving in efficient, practiced strokes. He'd stopped feeling hungry two days ago. Stopped feeling tired even longer before that. There was only the work, the endless consuming work, the thing that gave his existence meaning and structure and purpose.
He didn't hear you knock.
He didn't hear you call his name.
He didn't feel your presence in the room until you closed the door and the sound echoed through his sterileย
workspace.
"5012."
His fingers froze. He blinked, slow and mechanical.
"What are you doing here?"
"Checking on you." You walked toward his desk. "The way I always do. The way you always ignore."
"I am busy."
"You're always busy." You stopped in front of his desk. "That's the problem."
He looked up at you, and for a moment, the mask flickered. There was something dark beneath his eyes. Something hollow. The purple irises were flat, unfocused, like he'd been staring at the screen for so long that he'd forgotten how to see anything else.
"I don't have time for this," he said flatly. "There are reports that needโ"
"There are reports that can wait." You leaned over his desk, bracing your hands on the polished surface. "When was the last time you slept? Ate? Feel anything other than this?" You gestured vaguely at the office around you. "This endless, grinding, soul-sucking duty?"
His jaw tightened. "I am a Reaper. Feeling things isโ"
"Not allowed. I know. But you can't live like this forever."
His eyes flashed with sudden anger. "I have lived like this for decades. I have been exactly what the system requires of me. I am not going to stop now because you think I amโ"
"Because I'm worried about you?"
The anger was there for a moment, like something else took its place. Before he even shows that side, all he said, "I am fine."
"You're not." You rounded the desk and crouched beside his chair, forcing him to look at you.ย He didn't resist when you pulled him up from his chair. He followed you like a man in a daze, too exhausted to fight, too drained to maintain the walls he'd spent decades building.
"Are you going to lecture me?" he asked, his voice hollow. "Tell me I'm not taking care of myself?"
"No." You led him to the sofa in the corner of his officeโthe one that was always pristine, always untouched. "I'm going to take care of you."
He stood there, rigid and uncertain, as you guided him down onto the cushions. His suit was perfect, pressed, untouchable.
It was also a wall. And you were about to tear it down.
"Remove your jacket."
"I don'tโ"
"You need to feel, 5012. Not think. Not calculate. Not strategize." You knelt in front of him. "Feel."
He didn't move. Couldn't move. So you did it for himโunbuttoned his coat, slid it down his shoulders. He hissed in a breath through his teeth, and you saw itโthe tremor in his shoulder, the tension in his neck, the violence he'd been doing to his own body all this time.
"Look at you," you murmured, running a hand down his chest. "You carry all of it on your shoulders. Everyone else's problems. Everyone else's failures. The weight of an entire system that doesn't give a damn about you."
He swallowed. "It is my duty toโ"
"It's not your duty to destroy yourself."
You peeled the layers away slowly, deliberately. Removing the armor he'd built around himself until he was just a man, sitting there, vulnerable and exposed.ย
"You don't have to do anything." You pressed a kiss to his jaw. "You just have to let me take care of you. Can you do that?"
He hesitated for a long, terrible moment. Then he nodded.
So you'd decided to take care of him.
You'd lead him to the sofa. You'd undress him slowly. You'd remind him that he was allowed to be treated like a human, to be touched, to be held. You'd show him that he didn't have to carry everything alone.
You should have known better.
"Lie down," you said, guiding him toward the sofa.
He didn't move. You pushed gently at his shoulders, and he remained rooted to the spot, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"5012."
"I don't think so." His voice was flat. Cold. "You said you were going to take care of me. I seem to recall you mentioning something about not being able to do this alone."
"Yes, andโ"
"Then you lay down.โ
You blinked. "Excuse me?"
He move forward, and suddenly he was too close, his body crowding yours, his purple eyes burning with something you hadn't expected.ย
"You said you wanted to take care of me." His hand came up to cup your jaw, firm and unyielding. "Then take care of me. On my terms."
"I was going toโ"
"I know what you were going to do." He tilted his head, studying you like you were a problem to be solved. "You were going to be gentle. Slow. Patient." His thumb brushed over your lower lip. "I'm notโฆ Casper. I don't need to be coddled."
"It's not coddling, it'sโ"
"It's what you want." His eyes were dark, intense. "But I'm not going to give it to you."
His mouth crashed against yours, and any thought you'd had about being in control evaporated instantly. He kissed like he did everything else, always with zero fucking mercy.
Somehow, you ended up on your back.
You didn't remember getting there. One moment you were standing, the next you were sprawled on the sofa, 5012's body caging you in, his hips pressed between your thighs.
Every time you tried to take control, he countered. Every time you pushed, he pushed back harder. His hands were everywhereโgripping your thighs, your hips, your wristsโand his body was a wall of unrelenting strength.
"You're so stubborn," you gasped, trying to buck him off.
"Look who's talking." He caught your wrists and pinned them above your head. "You asked for this. Don't whine now."
"I'm not whiningโ"
"Mm. That's exactly what you're doing."
He settled between your legs, the thick heat of him pressing against your entrance, and you couldn't help the way your breath hitched. His eyes locked onto yours, watching every expression on your face.
"You really thought you could be on top," he said, almost to himself. "You really thought I'd let you."
He pushed inside you in one slow, brutal thrust, and you forgot how to breathe. He was bigโso bigโand the stretch of him made your vision blur. His hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to look at him.
"Look at me," he commanded. "I want to see your face when I fuck you."
"Y-you'reโ"
"Rude? Demanding?" His hips rolled, and you choked on a moan. "Yeah. I know. Now stop talking."
He moved like he was made for this.
His body planted on the mattress on top of you, using his core strength to drive into you with brutal precision. His hands gripped your ass, kneading the flesh as he slammed you down to meet his punishing thrusts. His eyes never left yoursโwatching, cataloging, memorizing every broken sound that spilled from your lips.
"Look at you," he said, his voice rough. "You thought you could be in control. You thought you could fuck me on your own terms."
"F-fuck youโ"
"That's the idea." His hips snapped forward, and you cried out. "But I'm the one doing the fucking, sweetheart. Not you."
He was relentless. Every thrust was deep and punishing, designed to break you down piece by piece. Your hands fisted in his shirt, your nails digging into his chest, but he didn't slow down. Didn't stop.
"Please," you gasped. "Please, Iโ"
"Please what? You wanted to take care of me. I'm letting you." His pace quickened, and you sobbed, overwhelmed. "What's the matter? Too much for you?"
"I can'tโ"
"Shh." He pressed his palm against your lower belly, and you screamed, the pressure driving you so close to the edge you could taste it. "Yes, you can. You're going to come for me. And then you're going to come again."
His eyes locked with yours, and you saw it thereโcomplete, absolute control. He was in charge, and he loved it.
"You're not going to stop until I say you can," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "And you're going to fucking thank me for it."
It wasnโt long before you broke apart on his cock, sobbing his name, your body shuddering through the most intense release of your life. He didn't stop. He kept fucking you through it, drawing out every last tremor, making you feel every second of your unraveling.
"That's it," he murmured, his voice almost tender. "That's my goodโ"
You clenched around him, and he groaned, his hips stuttering for just a moment.
"Fuck. Don'tโ"
"I thought you were in control," you gasped, a broken smile on your face. He growled, snapping his hips forward again, and you screamed.
"Brat," he said, his voice ragged. "You're such a fucking brat."
But there was something else in his voice nowโsomething that almost sounded like affection.
You came again, and then again, and then you lost count entirely. He made it hurt. Made it feel incredible. Made you forget every single good reason you'd had for keeping your distance.
When he finally came, it was with a raw, broken groan of your name, his body shuddering against yours.
And then he collapsed on top of you, face pressed into your neck, breathing ragged.
You lay there, tangled up and breathing hard, the only sound in the room the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing against your neck. He didn't move.ย
Couldn't move. For a long moment, he just stayed there, his body pressed against yours, his fingers still curled into your hip.
"I..." He swallowed, throat tight. "That was not... the plan."
"Funny," you said, voice hoarse. "That's exactly what I was about to say."
He huffed a laugh against your shoulder. "I was supposed to be the one whoโ"
"Took care of you? I know." You ran your fingers through his hair. "But I think you just needed to be reminded that you're allowed to let someone else carry the weight sometimes. Even if it means letting them try to take control."
He didn't say anything. But his arms tightened around you, and he pressed his face against your shoulder, and you felt the last of the tension leave his body.
It was the closest he could come to saying he loved you.
๐๐. ๐ถ๐ธ๐ถ๐บ | ๐ฐ๐๐ป๐ฐ๐
Atlas was always in the lounge.
It was his throne. His sanctuary even. The one place where he could pretend he wasn't a Reaper, wasn't a trainee, wasn't failing at the only thing he was supposed to do. He sprawled across the sofa like he owned it, his orange-streaked hair a riot of messy curls, his bright orange eyes half-lidded with practiced laziness.
He laughed at everything.
At jokes that weren't funny. At 5012's lectures. At the absurdity of his own existence. He laughed when trainees asked him questions he couldn't answer. Laughed when he failed his assessments. Laughed when the weight of everything pressed down on him so hard that he couldn't breathe.
If he didn't laugh, he'd shatter.
And everyone believed the act. Everyone except you.
You'd been watching him for weeks. The way his smile never quite reached his eyes. The way he stayed in the lounge until the early hours, avoiding his quartersโavoiding the silence, the solitude, the darkness.ย
The way he volunteered for extra assignments even though he complained about them constantly, because the alternative was being alone with his own thoughts.
He was running on fumes. Running from himself.ย
Running from the truth he didn't want to face.
You found him in the lounge at 3 AM. He was sprawled on the sofa, but he wasn't sleeping. His orange eyes were open, staring at the ceiling with an emptiness that made your chest ache.
There were three empty coffee cups on the table. A crumpled energy drink can. The faint smell of sugar and exhaustion hung in the air.
"Atlas."
He didn't move nor didnโt blink. "I'm not here."
"You're definitely here." You sat down on the edge of the sofa, looking down at him. "What are you doing awake at this hour?"
"Couldn't sleep." His voice was flat. Hollow. The usual playful edge was completely gone. "Nothing new."
"Atlas..."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
His jaw tightened. His eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, but something flickered in themโsomething raw and wounded. "Bro, I'm always fine. That's my whole thing."
"Your whole thing is a lie."
He flinched. It was barely perceptible, but you saw it.
"Come here." You reached out. "Sit up."
"I don't want toโ"
"Atlas." Your voice was gentle but firm. "Sit up."
He didn't move for a long moment. Then, slowly, he pushed himself upright. His orange eyes were red-rimmed. His smile was completely gone, replaced by something fragile and hollow.
"There. Happy?"
"No. Not even close."
You reached up and cupped his face. He flinched at the contact, like he wasn't used to being touched gently.
"Tell me what you want," you said softly. "Tell me what you need."
"I needโ" He swallowed hard. "I need to feel something real. Something that isn't this... this emptiness."
"Then let me give that to you."
With Atlas he very obedient when it comes to you.
You pulled him into his quarters, then undressed him slowly, gently. Each layer you removed felt like peeling back another mask. His jacket. His cargo pants. His high-necked top. He sat there, vulnerable and exposed, his dark skin littered with goosebumps.
"You're so beautiful," you murmured, running your hands down his chest.
He let out a shaky laugh. โHa-ah, I'm literally shaking like a leaf."
"I know." You pressed a kiss to his collarbone then pushed him back onto the mattress, climbing over him. He watched you with wide, uncertain eyesโhis usual bravado completely stripped away.
"Tell me what you want," you said again, straddling his hips.
"You." His voice cracked. "I want you. I want to feel something that isn't just... just this emptiness."
"Then you're going to have to do something for me."
His eyes flickered with confusion. "What?"
"You're going to let go. All of it. The jokes, the masks, the pretending." You leaned down, your lips brushing his ear. "You're going to be pathetic for me. Can you do that?"
He shivered. "Pathetic?"
"Pathetic." You kissed his jaw. "I want to see you fall apart. I want to hear you beg. I want to watch you come undone because you're so desperate for me that you can't pretend anymore."
"Fuck," he breathed. โYou're gonna kill me."
"That's the point."
He sat there, vulnerable and exposed, his dark skin littered with goosebumps. His orange eyes watched you with a mixture of nervousness and want, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.
"Look at you," you murmured, running a hand down his chest. "So pretty. So wound up. When was the last time someone actually touched you?"
He swallowed hard. "I... it's been a while."
You guided him back onto the bed, positioning yourself over him. His hands found your hips instinctively, gripping tight, his eyes never leaving yours.
"You're in control," you said softly. "But I'm going to ride you. And you're going to let me take what I want. Sound good?"
He nodded, breathless. "Yeah. Yeah, that soundsโthat sounds good."
You sank down onto him slowly, watching his face contort as he slid inside you. His mouth fell open, his fingers digging into your hips.
He was unpredictable, you'd learned. Atlas would keep you on your toes, downright wary of him during sex. You'd never know when he was about to switchย
positions, change pace, or bottom out without warning.
"F-Fuck, sorry babeโ" He'd gasp, slamming into you one second, then softly thrusting the next.
He'd repeat from behind you, slamming into your sopping wet cunt one second and softly thrusting whilst caressing your hips the next. Unpredictable wasn't even the word. He just seemed to refuse letting you become accustomed to his cock, as if he was making sure you didn't get too attached to him.
But now, with you on top, facing him, he couldn't hide.
"You're so tight," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips. "Fuck, you're so goodโ"
"Eyes on me," you commanded.
He obeyed instantly, his orange eyes locking with yours.
"Good boy."
His hips bucked. He whimperedโactually whimperedโand his grip on your hips tightened. "Again," he breathed. "Say that again, p-please.โ
"Good boy." You rolled your hips slowly, watching his face contort. "You like being a good boy for me, don't you?"
"Fuck, yes, IโI do, Iโ"
"You're so pathetic." You leaned down, your lips brushing his. "And I love it." He whimpered. His hips twitched up into you, desperate and needy.
"You like that?" you asked, riding him faster. "You like being told what to do? You like being good?"
โShit, Iโ" He gasped as you clenched around him. "Fuck, Iโyes, I like it, I like itโ"
"Say it. Say what you are."
He was trembling now, his hands white-knuckled on your hips. His voice came out wrecked and desperate.
"I'mโI'm a good boy. I'm your good boy. Please, pleaseโ"
You leaned forward, kissing him hard as you rode him, swallowing his desperate sounds. He was so easy to unravel. So eager to please. All it took was someone taking control, and he became a trembling mess beneath you.
"That's right," you murmured against his lips. "You're so good for me. So fucking pretty like this."
He cried out as you picked up the pace, his hips bucking up to meet yours. He was unpredictableโsometimes slow and deep, sometimes fast and franticโbut you kept control, kept him on the edge.
"You want to cum?" you asked, breathless. "You want to be a good boy and cum for me?"
"Yes," he gasped. "Yes, yes, please, I needโ"
"Then do it. Let go for me."
He shattered. His body arched, and he cried out your name, his release spilling hot and deep inside you. He was wrecked, trembling, his eyes wet with tears he couldn't hold back.
You stilled, watching him come down. His chest heaved, his hands still gripping your hips like you were his anchor.
"Holy shit," he breathed. โThat wasโthat wasโ"
"I know." You leaned down and kissed his forehead.ย "You did so good. Such a good boy for me."
He laughedโa real laugh, shaky and breathless. "I love it when you say that."
๐๐. ๐ธ๐บ๐ฝ๐ท | ๐๐พ๐๐ฐ๐ฝ
Rowan was always smiling.
It was the first thing anyone noticed about himโthat bright, infectious grin that seemed to light up the entire 10th Station. He smiled at trainees. Smiled at mortals. Smiled as he collected souls and guided them to the afterlife. Smiled as he polished his collection of human trinkets and shared their stories with anyone who would listen.
His smile was his gift.
It was also his curse.
Because Rowan smiled through everything. Through the exhaustion. Through the loneliness. Through the endless, grinding weight of being a Reaper who felt too much. He smiled when his heart was breaking. Smiled when the system reminded him that emotions were inefficiency. Smiled when he held a dying child and promised them the afterlife was beautiful, even as he wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.
If he didn't smile, he'd fall apart.
And everyone believed the act. Everyone except you.
You'd been watching him for months. The way his smile never quite reached his eyes when he thought no one was looking. The way he stayed up late polishing his trinkets, talking to them like they were old friends. The way he offered comfort to everyone else while quietly crumbling inside.
He was running on empty. Giving so much of himself to everyone else that there was nothing left for him.
He was drowning.
And he was doing it with a smile on his face.
You found him in his quarters at 2 AM. He was sitting on the floor surrounded by his collectionโthe telescope, the snow globe, the cracked music box. His fingers were wrapped around a small brass compass, and he was staring at it with an expression of raw, aching grief.
"Rowan."
He didn't look up. His smile was fixed in place, but it was wrong. "Darling! What brings you here at this hour? You should be restingโ"
"So should you."
He laughedโa hollow, brittle sound. "I'm fine. I'm always fine."
"You're not."
His hand tightened around the compass. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" You crossed the room and knelt in front of him. "The telescope," you said softly. "You tell everyone it's beautiful. That humans used it to find their way. But you never tell them why you really keep it."
He flinched. His smile flickered. โYou caught me, I don't know what I'm doing," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I don't know who I am anymore. I smile because I don't know what else to do. I smile because if I stop, I'llโ" He choked on the words. "I'll fall apart. And I can't fall apart. There's no one else to hold it together for them."
"Then let me hold it together for you."
He looked up at you, his blue eyes swimming with tears. His smile was gone now, replaced by something raw and vulnerable and so achingly human.
"Please," he whispered. "Please, IโI don't want to be alone. I don't want to feel like this anymore."
"Then let me in."
Rowan was always the one who gave.
He gave comfort. Gave warmth. Gave pieces of himself to every soul he guided, every trainee he mentored, every mortal whose fleeting happiness he admired. He loved so freely, so completely, that he'd forgotten what it felt like to receive.
But tonight, he was learning.
He was learning that he was allowed to want. Allowed to need. Allowed to be greedy for once. "Y-yeah," he gasped against your lips, his voice already breathless. "Feels amazing~"
His thrusts were passionate, deep, relentless. Each one drove the air from your lungs, his body pressing yours into the mattress with delicious weight. His mouth was everywhereโtrailing kisses down your throat, across your collarbone, back up to claim your lips in long, languid kisses that stole your breath.
"I've got you," he murmured against your mouth. "I've got you. Let me do all the work. Let me take care of you."
He meant it, too. He kept your legs hitched around his waist, supporting your weight with a strength that surprised you. His blue eyes were half-lidded, dark with desire, but there was something else there tooโsomething soft and reverent.
He was worshipping you.
"You feel so good," he breathed. "So perfect. I don'tโI don't want to stop. I don't want this to end."
Around five or six minutes in, he switched.
It was subtle at firstโa slight adjustment of his hips, a repositioning of his hands on your thighs. And then he had you angled in a way that made you gasp, your eyes going wide with surprise.ย
"Oh!" you cried out. "Rowanโ"
He grinned, his usual flamboyant smile now edged with something possessive and proud. "Found it, didn't I?"
"H-how did youโ"
"There's a lot you don't know about me, darling." He thrust deeper, and you moaned, your fingers scrabbling against his shoulders. "But I've been paying attention. I know exactly how to make you feel good."
He was panting now, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he didn't slow down. Couldn't slow down. "Hnnngh," he groaned, his grip tightening on your hips. "Can you keep this position? Yeah? Too much? Too bad, huh..."
There was a teasing edge to his voice, but it was undercut by genuine desperation. He needed thisโneeded to make you feel good, needed to see you fall apart beneath him.
"You'reโ" You gasped as he hit that spot again. "You're impossible."
"Impossibly good, I think you mean." He laughed, giving a breathless, joyful sound. "I told you, darling. I'm the cutest Reaper in the lane. And I'm going to make you feel so, so good."
He was relentless. Each thrust was perfectly aimed, designed to drive you closer to the edge. His body covered yours, warm and solid, and his lips never stopped movingโwhispering praise against your skin.
"Look at you," he breathed. "So beautiful. You have no idea what you do to me. How long I've wanted this. Wanted you."
His breathing was getting more ragged, his rhythm starting to break. He was close, you could feel it in the way his body tensed, the way his thrusts became more desperate.
"Come for me," he urged. "Let me feel you. Please, I need toโI need to feel you fall apart. I need to know I made you feel good."
His hand slipped between your bodies, his thumb finding you. You cried out, your body arching as the pleasure crashed over you.
"R-Rowanโ!"
"Yes," he groaned, his hips pistoning faster. "Yes, that's itโthat's itโlet goโ"
He was determined to make a scene of it.
"Fuckโohโ" His voice rose, loud and unabashed. "Ohhhhโssssshhhhitโ"
He didn't try to muffle it. Didn't hold back. He cried out like he wanted the whole underworld to know exactly what he'd doneโexactly who he'd made fall apart beneath him.
"I did that," he gasped, his paace turning sloppy. "I made youโI made you feel thatโ"
His hips stuttered, and he groaned your name, spilling inside you in a long, shuddering release. He kept thrusting through it, smooth and slow, drawing out every last wave of pleasure.
You reached for his chest, trying to slow him down, but he just laughed breathlessly and caught your hand in his.
"Too much?" he asked, his voice soft now, tender. "Want me to stop?"
You shook your head, unable to form words.
"Good. Because I'm not done with you yet."
He pulled you into a kiss, deep and tender, before pulling out gently. He collapsed beside you, pulling you against his chest.
"That wasโ" He laughed, breathless. "That was incredible. You were incredible. I don'tโI don't know what I did to deserve you."
"Rowan..."
"I mean it." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I love you. I know I say it too much. I know I feel too much. But I love you, and I want to keep loving you for as long as you'll let me."
โ 5012 x gn! reader (๐๐ธ: 9.6k) (๐พ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐: โi wonder by Nardo Wick)
๐๐ถ๐๐: smut ยท sex-deprived + hard dom!5012 x brat! afab! reader ยท hair pulling ยท oral (receiving) ยท brat taming ยท degradation ยท fingering ยท multiple orgasms ยท unprotected sex ยท creampie ยทย workplace relationships ยท warming spoilers of adwd 2 remnants!
๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐พ๐: He wonders why you won't leave him alone. Why you keep pushing, keep poking, keep finding new ways to get under his skin. Why you look at him like you see something worth findingโeven when he's spent centuries making sure no one looks at all. He's warned you to back off.
He's told you, in no uncertain terms, that you're a distraction, a nuisance, a problem he never asked for.
But you just don't listen, do you?
He wonders why he has to put up with you and then immediately wonders why he wonders that at all.
The fluorescent lights of the R.A.D. corridor hum along with the polished floors gleam under the harsh glow, reflecting the silhouette of a passing reapers. Somewhere in the distance, door slides open and closed with a hiss.
And you're still talking.
"โand I'm telling you, the filing system in the central hub is a disaster. Whoever organized it last clearly had no understanding of chronological order. Souls don't wait for administrative convenience, 5012. They arrive when they arrive, and if we can't process them efficiently because someone decided to alphabetize byโ"
5012 tunes you out. Not because he doesn't care about efficiencyโlike he IS efficiency, truly embodied and perfected. But because he's heard this particular complaint three times already this morning.ย
And the morning before that. And the morning before that.
You, who arrived with a reputation that preceded you. You, who had been a Reaper for decadesโcenturies, even before being reassigned to his station.ย
You, who had worked in the 9th Station under 3611 himself, who had trained under the most demanding Reapers in the Underworld. You, who had been described in your file as "exemplary" and "highly competent" and "an asset to any team."
You and 5012 had only been partnered together following the simultaneous removal of the previous leadership. The revolution had reshuffled everything, like the stations, units, allegiancesโand somehow, inexplicably, the two of you had been slotted together. Needless to say, the arrangement worked. Efficiently, even.ย
Your skills complemented his, your methods aligned with his precision, and on paper, you were the ideal partnership.
But that was on paper.
In practice, you were relentless. You nagged him about his smoking, his recklessness, his gloomy demeanorโeverything. At every turn, he was met with your attitude, your teasing, your infuriating refusal to let him brood in peace. You made him all the more stormy, a perpetual thundercloud barely contained behind his carefully constructed composure.
He'd appealed for a new partner multiple times.
Nothing had been said. No response. No reassignment.ย
He was truly stuck with you.
He glances at you from the corner of his eye. You're walking beside him, matching his pace easily. Your posture is perfectโback straight, head high, the bearing of someone who knows exactly where they stand.ย
You carry yourself like a traditional Grim Reaper, one who understands the weight of the position. One who had earned their place through years of service. Not like the troublemakers he'd been saddled with recently.
He'd received them a few days ago. Fresh two trainees. Newly awakened. And already, they were testing every ounce of his patience.ย
And now he had you. Another problem. Another person who didn't understand the value of silence.
It would be easier if you were incompetent. If you were lazy. If you were anything less than what you clearly wereโa skilled, capable, experienced Reaper who had been assigned to him for reasons that he didn't fully understand.
But you were competent. You were capable. You were, in fact, exactly the kind of Reaper that the Underworld should have been producing all along.
And that made you infinitely more annoying.
He glances at you again. There's something about the way you move was purposeful. The way you speak was always direct, informed, never wasting words even when you're clearly trying to annoy him. The way you hold yourselfโlike you know exactly who you are and what you're worth.
He hates that. And also...
No.
He stops the thought before it can form. He's not going there. He's not going to acknowledge the way his gaze lingers a moment too long. He's not going to acknowledge the way your voice cuts through his thoughts like a blade.
"โand then the equipment requisition form was submitted backward, which means we have to resubmit everything, but the form requires supervisor approval, which means you have to sign it, which means you need to actually read it, which means you need to stop staring at the wall andโ"
His eyes snap back into focus.
You've stopped walking while he was still moving, but only because momentum carries him a few steps forward before he realizes. He turns. You're standing there, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, your expression a mixture of exasperation and something that might be amusement.
You snap your fingers in front of his face. "Hello? 5012? Did you hear a single word I just said?"
He blinks. "Of course," he says smoothly. "You were talking about the equipment requisition form."
"That was forty seconds ago. Before that, I was talking about the filing system. Before that, I was talking about the new trainees. You know, the one you received a few days ago? The one you've been complaining about nonstop? That new trainee?"
"I was listening," he says.
"Oh yeah? What was I saying?"
He doesn't answer. He can't answer. Because the truth isโhe was distracted by you. By the way you moved. By the way you spoke. By the way you annoyed him and fascinated him in equal measure.
He clears his throat, turns, and resumes walking. The corridor bends left, and the lighting shiftsโdimmer here, the bulbs flickering with that particular Underworld inconsistency that no one ever bothers to fix. A potted plant sits in the corner, long dead, its brown leaves a testament to the station's general apathy toward aesthetics. 5012 makes a mental note to have it removed.
He's had to make a lot of mental notes since you arrived.
You fall into step beside him again, because of course you do. You don't wait for an invitation. You don't ask permission. You just exist in his space like you belong there, like you've always been there, like the very air around him has decided to take a form and start talking at him.
And the worst part?
He doesn't hate it as much as he should.
"I was thinking about the new trainees," he says finally, because silence with you feels too much like an admission.
You blink, turning to look at him as you walk. "It's only trainees, 5012. All of them always have problems at the start. That's why they're trainees. It's up to us to train them into perfect Reapers."
"No." The word comes out sharper than intended. He exhales, and it's a sound of pure exhaustionโthe kind that settles deep in his chest and refuses to leave. "The first one, Atlas, or whatever he calls himself was late to our first meeting. When I asked him why, he said he was playing an arcade game. An arcade game. In the R.A.D. common room. While I was waiting for him."
"He was playing arcade games?"
"He was 'going for a high score,' apparently." 5012's voice drips with disdain. He pauses as they pass a window overlooking the cityโthe eternal night of the Underworld stretched out before them, orange lights flickering in the distance like dying embers. "And then the other oneโ0213, who has decided to give themselves a 'human name' even though they've been a Reaper for approximately three daysโarrived little late because they were 'socializing' with other Reapers."
"Ah, socializing...?"
The way you say it makes him narrow his eyes. He's about to respond when you step closer, much close enough that he catches the faint, inexplicable warmth of your presenceโand tilt your head up to meet his gaze.
He's got a good few inches on you.
You don't seem to care.
"You know what your problem is, 5012?"
He stops walking. The corridor is empty now, the distant hum of the building the only sound. His office is just aheadโdoor closed, light off, waiting for him like a sanctuary he doesn't deserve.
"What problems," he says flatly. "You'll have to be specific."
"You take everything way too seriously."
"I take my job seriously. There's a difference."
"Is there?" You poke his chest. Once. Twice. The touch is brief, almost casual, but he feels it like a brand since you do it often. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've forgotten what fun is. You know, fun is necessary."
"I don't need to lighten up. I need Reapers to do their jobs."
"And maybe if you were a little easier on them, they'd actually want to do their jobs."
The words hang in the air between you, sharp and undeniable. You mumble the last part under your breath, but he hears it anywayโhe hears everything when it comes to you.
The corridor gives way to the entrance of his office. The door slides open with a soft hiss, revealing the familiar space beyond: dim purple light, the cityscape through the arched window, the shelves lined with books and trophies and the meticulous order he's cultivated over decades.
The whole R.A.D. is near-empty. Most of the Reaper Association had fucked off for most of the day, leaving behind only the stragglers and the workaholics and the ones who had nowhere else to be.
Despite this, you stayed and followed him.
You're now in his office, invading his space, standing there like you belong in the one place he's always kept carefully, obsessively his own. When he looks at you his knuckles blanch against the edge of his desk. But his lips barely part, flickering at the corners, a muscle twitching with something he refuses to name.
He tears his gaze away.
โJust please focus on your work." His command lands with all the affection of a slammed door. "Reports aren't going to write themselves."
"Oh, I've been done with that." You snort, and he can hear the eye roll in your voice. You're tired of papers, he can tell. Tired of the staleness of his office. Tired of the fact that it's always clean, always orderly, always perfect in that suffocating way that leaves no room for anything human.
He should be grateful for you. Clearly, he's not.
"Then why are you still here?" he snaps, the words laced with a familiar edge of irritation.
You raise a brow, and before you can even part your lips, he's already barreling ahead.
"I don't need your help," he scoffs, dismissive and sharp, as if the very suggestion offends him.
"Right. Of course. You would've done it all by yourself." You let the words hang, dripping with mock sweetness. "Because you're so eager to do anything 8394 says. Or what's his name nowโCasper, isn't it?"
You toss your head toward him, letting your gaze linger just long enough to catch the faint flush creeping across his cheeks. His eyes are closed, jaw tight, that familiar fortress of composure already cracking at the edges.
You beat him to it before he can even open his mouth. "It's not a crime to want approval, 5012." Your voice is softer now, almost conversational, but the barb is still thereโsharp and precise. "You shouldn't make it everyone else's problem, though."
The words settle between you like smoke, curling and lingering in the stale office air. He clicks his tongue with irritation, a sound that's become almost routine in your presence.
"So have me terminated then." You lean back in your chair, letting it shriek against the floor in protest. You stretch your arms out casually, very much provoking. "Oh, waitโyou can't do that anymore, can you?"
The mockery drips from your voice, playful and venomous in equal measure.
5012's jaw spasms. A muscle ticks beneath the skin, and for a moment you think you've finally pushed him past the point of restraint. You want to see it. You want to see if he'll punch something, throw something, do anything other than retreat into that cold, impenetrable silence he wears like armor.
Instead, he withdraws. Just like he always does.
Most people would drop it. Would let the silence settle and the tension dissolve. But you? You've made an art of poking, of prodding, of testing exactly how far a man like him can bend before he finally breaks.
Youโve been wondering how heโll snap.
You watch him make three passes through the room, never once facing you head-on. His movements are mechanicalโcollating papers, scanning documents, scanning them again. The edges of the pages bristle under his fingers, a quiet testament to his fraying patience.
It's thrilling, honestly. How easy it is to set his nerves singing. You start narrating his steps in your head, cataloging every twitch and stiffened shoulder, imagining what it would take to force that mask to slip completely. The nascent thought is seductive: if you keep prodding, keep pushing, maybe he'll finally shatter into a spectacular, beautiful mess.
"Do you want me to be terminated?"
Your voice is modulated nowโcontrolled, almost gentle. The cruelty only simmers beneath the surface, a quiet current you've decided to be merciful about. For now.
You know exactly what you're doing.ย
You're poking the bear himself, and you're enjoying it.
โDo I look like HR to you?โ 5012 questioned bitterly, waving you off with a dismissive flick of his hand. His voice is flat, hollow, drained of all the fire you'd so carefully stoked. โIf youโre done with work then just go home. Or do whatever you want."
Instead, you rise from his desk slowness, letting the silence stretch between you like a wire pulled taut. 5012 watches you warily, his posture stiffening as you round the desk, to the front. He doesn't retreat, though. He never does. He stands his ground like a man who's forgotten how to yield.
You plant your palms flat on the surface of his desk, leaning in just enough to make your presence undeniable. Then, with the kind of casual audacity that makes his eye twitch, you hoist yourself up and settle on the edge of his workspace.
Right on top of his neatly arranged paperwork.
He hates that you do this.
You know he hates it.
And yet, he lets it go. Every single time.
You sit there for a moment, letting your gaze drift over him with the kind of unhurried assessment that makes most people squirm. His purple eyes are fixed on you, sharp and adamant, but there's something else quivering beneath that pretty faceโsomething he's desperately trying to keep buried.
You look at him for a few seconds before you sit up straighter. Smooth down the front of your outfit. Arrange your features into something almost properโback straight, hands folded neatly in your lap, chin tilted at just the right angle.
The sudden change is so jarring that 5012's brow furrows. He blinks, confusion flickering across his features like a crack in porcelain. He can't read you. He never can. Your narrowed gaze gives nothing awayโbored, almost dismissive, like you've already decided he's not worth the effort.
"Lame," you murmur, just loud enough for him to catch. "You're so lame. And you suck at hiding it."
His eyes narrow. "What are you talking about now?"
You don't answer immediately. Instead, you lean forward, letting your hair fall forward to curtain your face. The strands brush against your cheeks, and you push them back with a slow, deliberate motionโexposing your face entirely, leaving nothing for him to hide behind.
You're close now. Close enough that he can see the way your pupils dilate in the dim office light. Close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off you. "You look like you want to take the edge off," you say, voice dropping to something quieter. More intimate. "But you don't want to admit it."
The words hang in the air between you, heavy and charged. 5012's jaw tightens. His hands, resting on the armrests of his chair, curl into fists. He doesn't look away from youโif anything, his gaze sharpens, slitting into something dangerously focused.
"That's ridiculous," he finally says, his voice low and clipped. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?"
"No." He leans back in his chair, putting a sliver of distance between you. It's not enough. It's never enough. "You're projecting. As usual."
"Am I?"
"Yes." His fingers drum against the armrestโa rare tell, one he'd never allow anyone else to see. "And I don't need you to psychoanalyze me. I need you to leave."
"Uh-huh." You don't move.
"I'm serious." His voice hardens. "Take your leave. I don't need you anymore."
Your thumb finds the seam of his paperworkโthe stack he'd so carefully organized, the edges he'd so meticulously aligned. With a lazy motion, you cock the neat stack askew. "You sure?" you ask, tilting your head. "There's more you could ask of me, 5012. Unless..." You pause, letting the word linger. "Unless you're scared?โย
He sighs. It's a sound of pure, bone-deep exhaustionโthe kind that settles in his chest and refuses to leave. His hands curl around the coffee mug on his desk, fingers tightening until his knuckles go white. For a moment, you almost expect the ceramic to shatter in his grip.
"Just go," he says again, quieter this time. "I have work to do."
You slide off the desk, but instead of heading for the door, you sidestepโright into his space. You plant yourself directly in front of him, close enough that your knees nearly brush his. You look down at him, and for once, he doesn't bother to look away.
"You know," you say, your voice conversational, almost pleasant, "I could go home. Or I could go to the human world. Chill there for a while. Grab a drink. Watch the sun rise."
His expression sours. "That's irresponsible. Even for you."
"Is it?" You shrug, utterly unbothered. "Maybe. But I could also stay. Right here. Until you tell me what you actually want to my face instead of being so damn defensive all the time."
The words land like a blow. 5012's jaw works, muscles grinding beneath the skin. He stares up at you, "Stubborn," he mutters, almost to himself. "Incredibly stubborn."
"I've been called worse."
"I'm sure you have." His grip on the mug loosens. His shoulders drop a fraction of an inchโso subtle you almost miss it. But you don't miss it. You never miss anything when it comes to him. "You don't know what you're asking," he says, his voice barely above a murmur.
"Try me."
He looks at you for a long, aching moment as hisย office hums with silenceโthe distant buzz of fluorescent lights and the faint whisper of the ventilation system.
It's you who finally breaks the silence, voice low and teasing: "Or are you just going to sit there and pretend I don't exist?"
His jaw tightens. He looks awayโjust for a second anyway before dragging his gaze back to yours. When he speaks, his voice is stripped raw, scraped clean of all the usual armor.
You snort. "Seriously?" You tilt your head, letting your gaze drag over him with theatrical slowness. โNothing this time?โ
The barb scrapes the nerve. He puts his pen down with an audible clickโsharp, final, a punctuation mark to his fraying patience. He rises from his chair, and the movement is fluid. He looms by the desk corner, using every inch of his height like a weapon.
It doesn't work.
You remain unmoved, completely unimpressed.
The gap between your bodies is just a dare now. A breath of space that neither of you closes. You smile. Slow. Indulgent. Chin tipped up, meeting his glare head-on. "I want you to stop pretending you're not attracted to me," you drawl.
The gamble lands heavy between you. You think that if it weren't for the air conditioning blasting, you might be able to hear the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat.
His gaze is brighter than the human realm sun, somehow. Hot in anger, though there's something else flickering in those purple irisesโsomething warm, something he'd never admit to.ย
He's never easy to read, but you know him well enough to recognize the cracks in his composure.
Something about this knowledge makes your pulse behave badly. You've always wanted to know what he'd be like without all the protocol. How much of himself he'd let in if you shone a light on him.
"I'm not," he seethes, voice thin, frayed at the edges, "attracted to you.โ
You make a sound that's not quite a laugh. More like a scoff, but it's cruel regardless.
"That's a good answer. Very diplomatic." You tap your chin, feigning thoughtfulness. "Very... technically not a lie, since you're not attracted to me. You're justโwhat? Fascinated? Intrigued? Constantly thinking about me when you should be working?"
He doesn't answer.ย
He won't look at you this time.ย
"Aw thatโs too bad, though." You step closer, voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. "What if I said I wanted you too, 5012?โ
He flinches. It's barely perceptibleโa micro-movement, a tightening of his jaw. But you catch it. You always catch it. It's the most overt form of emotion he's shown in regards to you, and the sight of it makes you feel drunk on possibility.
"You can't say things like that," he finally says, his voice so quiet it's almost swallowed by the hum of the office. "You know the rules."
"Rules?" You laugh, soft and disbelieving. "Since when have you ever cared about what I know?"
He lifts his gaze to meet yours. There's something raw in it now, something unguarded. "I care about the balance. I can'tโ"
"Can't what?" You cut him off then tilt your head, voice softening despite yourself. "Can't admit it? Can't say it out loud?" You pause, letting the words settle.ย
"Or can't lie about it?"
He goes still. The Reaper's oath binds him to truth. He cannot utter a falsehoodโthe words simply won't form. But he can dodge. He can deflect. He can dance around the edges of a confession like a man avoiding a trap.
And right now, he's doing all three.
Then something change in his expression. It doesn't just slipโit shatters, and what's underneath is something you've never seen before.
5012 moves. One moment he's standing there, rigid and restrained. The next, he's in your spaceโcloser than close, his body crowding yours against the edge of his desk. His hand finds your chin, fingers firm against your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.
You gasp. It's not loud. Barely a whisper of air escaping your lips. But he hears it anyway.
"You." His voice is low, rough, scraped raw. "You have no idea how sick I am of your behavior."
Your heart stutters. Your mind scrambles for a retort, a barb, anything to regain the upper hand. But the words won't come.
"All this time," he continues, thumb tracing the line of your jaw with devastating slowness. "All this poking. Prodding. Testing my limits like I'm some kind of experiment." His other hand finds your waist, fingers splaying across your hip, anchoring you in place.ย
"Every single day," he murmurs, and there's something almost amused in his voice now, enough that makes your stomach flip. "You find new ways to get under my skin. To push my buttons. To see how far you can go before I snap."
His eyes search yours, and for the first time, you see something you never expected to find there.
Hunger.
"And now you wonder," he says, the words slow and careful, "whether I want you."
You swallow hard. "Iโ"
"Be quiet." His thumb presses against your lower lip, silencing you. "I've had enough of your talking. Your pathetic little games." He leans in, his breath warm against your ear, and you feel the words more than you hear them.ย
"You wanted my attention so badly? You have it."
A shiver runs down your spine. Your hands find his chest, ready to push him awayโbut they don't. They just... rest there, just feeling the steady pace of his heartbeat.
"Tell me," he says, pulling back just enough to look at you. "Is this what you wanted?" His thumb traces your lower lip again, slow and teasing. "To finally get a reaction out of me?"
You force yourself to meet his gaze. โHaโฆ I don't know what you're talking about. Youโre the one whoโs freaking out over me.โ The statement you claim, clearly isnโt true.
His laugh is quiet and devoid of humor. โNow thatโs a lieโฆ and the truth, such cleverness," Your eyes widen as he tilts your chin up higher. "We both know you can't lie. But you can deflect. You can dodge." He pauses, and the intensity of his stare makes your knees weak. "You can pretend you don't know exactly what you've been doing."
โ50โโ
"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. "Every time you poked my chest. Every time you sat on my desk. Every time you leaned in just a little too close." He tugs, just slightly, tilting your head back. "Did you think I was blind?"
You should say something. Again, at least fight back but the words are stuck in your throat, tangled in the sudden, overwhelming awareness of how close he is.
"Just admit it." His voice drops even lower, a whisper against your lips. "You wanted to see what it would take to break me."
You swallow hard, scoff. "And? So what if I did?"
Your confession caused 5012 to goes still. For a moment, you think you've finally pushed him too far. That he'll pull away, retreat back behind his walls, leave you standing here with your heart in your throat.
Yet he doesn't. Instead, he pulls you closer.ย
"Thenโฆ you should have been careful what you wished for."ย
His mouth meets yours before you can respondโand it's not gentle. It's not tentative. It's a claim, a brand, a punishment and a promise all at once. You make a sound against his lipsโsurprise, maybe, or something deeper. Your hands fist in his coat, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.
When he pulls back, you're breathless.
"That'sโ" you start, but he cuts you off with another kiss, shorter this time, almost dismissive. His hands find your hips, and before you can react, he's lifted you more onto the desk, stepping between your thighs like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"5... 0... 1... 2..." You manage a forced breath, staring up at him with that wide, defiant gaze even as he crowds you against the edge, your head tilting back to follow the line of his face.
"Twenty-three times," he says. "You've put that same look on your face twenty-three times today."
"What look?"
"The one that says you're about to say something you shouldn't."
"Pfft," you scoff. "You're counting."
"Difficult not to, when you make it soโ" His jaw tightens. "โobvious."
"Obvious?" You laugh. "Oh, I'm obvious? Then tell me, what am I thinking right now?"
He narrows his eyes, scanning your faceโand then his lips part, his throat bobbing when he swallows. "No."
"No? That's all I get?"
"Because Iโ" He breaks off, reining in his frustration. "I have the distinct feeling you'll take what I say and use it to torture me for the next century. So, no. I won't be obliging you."
You lean back, palms flat on the desk, "Funny. Because I was just thinking about how different your office looks from the angle. Right from where you sit. That's the view you have all day, just staring at the wall? It's a wonder you get any work done."
His eyes tick to your throat, then away. And for a moment, 5012 just looks at you, like truly, thoroughly, devastatingly looks and you watch the last thread of his composure snap.
"You know, when I wonder about you..." He trails off, jaw working, eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, he reaches out, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your breath catch.
"I wonder what it would take to finally shut you up," he says softly. "What it would take for you to stop running your mouth and just..." He stops.
"Just what?" you whisper.
He doesn't answer. Instead, his hand slides to the back of your neck again, and he pulls you in, forehead pressed against yours.
"No more games." His hand slides to your waist, grip firm, pulling you flush against him. "No more teasing. No more testing."
He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice a low murmur that sends shivers down your spine. "You've been begging for this since the day you arrived. Every glance. Every touch. Every word carefully chosen to get under my skin."
His other hand finds your thigh, fingers pressing into the fabric of your pants. "And I've let you. Because I was too stubborn. Too professional."
He pulls back, and the look in his eyes makes your heart stutter.
"But I'm done letting you get away with it."
The words hang in the air between you, heavy and charged. And then he moves slow, never breaking eye contact.
His gloved hand rises to his mouth, and you watch, transfixed, as his teeth catch the tip of the leather at his middle finger. He tugs, a single sharp pull, and the glove comes free inch by agonizing inch. The black leather peels away from his skin, revealing the pale expanse of his hand beneathโthe ridges of his knuckles, the fine veins tracing along his wrist, the warmth of his palm that you suddenly, desperately want to feel against your skin.
His jaw works, pulling the glove loose until it hangs from his teeth, a dark flag of surrender. He lets it drop to the floor with a soft thud, and his bare hand finds your waist, skin against fabric, searing through the barrier of your clothes.
The second glove follows the same wayโhis teeth catching the leather, pulling slow and deliberate, dragging out every second of the reveal. You watch his lips part around the material, watch the flex of his jaw, and something low and hot coils in your belly.
When that glove joins the first on the floor, he flexes his bare fingers, and you can see the faint flush of warmth across his knuckles. His hand rises, palm flat against your cheek, and the contact is electricโbare skin against skin, no barrier, no distance.
His thumb traces your lower lip, and you feel every ridge of his fingerprint.
"No more barriers," he murmurs. "No more distance." His bare hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair that makes your breath catch.
"I wonder," he says, voice low and rough, "if you're ready for what comes next."
You open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off with another kiss that steals every thought from your mind. It's not gentle. It's not the careful, controlled kiss from before.
It's a lesson.
His teeth graze your lower lip, and you gasp. He takes advantage, deepening the kiss until you're breathless, until your hands grip his coat like a lifeline.
When he pulls back, you're trembling.
"I warned you," he says, and there's a finality in his voice that makes your blood run hot. "Warned you many times." He tips your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.ย
"But you can only learn the hard way, it seems."
Your pulse pounds in your ears. It didn't take long for 5012 to start implementing punitive measures.
It was subtle at firstโa hand that lingered a moment too long on your hip, a gaze that tracked your movements with precision. But then the games began in earnest, and you realized with a thrill that you'd awakened something in him that had been sleeping far too long.
He called it "professional development."
You called it the most exquisite torture you'd ever endured.
5012 sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms bare and corded with tension. His coat had been discarded hours ago, draped over the back of the sofa like a forgotten skin. He looked... unmoored. Just hungry looking.
His hand found your chin, tilting your face up. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you."
You met his gaze, defiant and unrepentant.
"Right" he murmured, thumb tracing your lower lip thenย released your chin and stepped back, "I think it's time we address this... behavioral issue."
You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Is that all you've got?"
He stopped behind you. You felt the heat of him at your back, felt his breath ghost across the shell of your ear. "Careful," he murmured, "or I'll show you just how much I've got."
A shiver raced down your spine.
"Lean over the desk."
You froze in shocked, โExcuse me?"
"You heard me." His hand found the nape of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. Not a threatโjust a promise. "Lean. Over. The desk."
You could have refused. You could have laughed, deflected, turned it into another game. But something in his voice made you obey.
You bent over the polished wood, palms flat against the cool surface. Your heart pounded. Your breath came in shallow gasps.
"Good." His voice was warm against your ear. "Look at you. So obedient when you want to be."
His hands found your hips, fingers curling into the fabric of your pants. He tugged, just slightly, adjusting your position. "Tell me," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "How many times have you done this? Sat on this desk, crossed your legs, tilted your head, tempted?"
"I don'tโ"
"Don't lie." He pressed closer, the warmth of him a brand against your back. "I've seen the way you look at me. The way you arch your back when you think I'm not watching. The way you push and push and push." His hand slid from your hip to the curve of your ass, palm flat and heavy.
"You wanted my attention," he murmured. "Now you have it."
The first strike was sharp, unexpected, a crack of his palm against your pants that made you gasp. It didn't hurtโnot reallyโbut the unexpectedness and shock of it, the sheer audacity, made your knees buckle.ย
"That was for the complaint about the filing system," he said. "You knew I was already frustrated."
Another strike. Harder this time. You bit your lip.ย
"That was for telling the junior Reapers that I 'needed to lighten up.'"
You opened your mouth to respond, but the third blow came faster than you expected, and the sound that escaped you was embarrassingly close to a moan.ย
"And that," he said, voice dropping to something almost affectionate, "was for this."
His hand found your hip, turning you over, and before you could react, he'd flipped you onto your back on the desk causing papers to scattered, even his pen clattered to the floor. He loomed over you, eyes dark, breath uneven.
"Look at you." His voice was rough, scraped raw. "So damn obedient when you're not talking."
You laughed, breathless. "You like me better when I'm talking."
"Do I?" His hands found the hem of your shirt, fingers sliding beneath the fabric. "Or do I just like the way your mouth moves when you're being insufferable?"
"Both."
He huffed a laugh. "Probably."
His fingers traced the edge of your pants, hooking into the waistband. "Take these off."
"Make me."
The challenge hung in the air between you, just.ย unbearable. He tilted his head, studying you with those sharp purple eyes. "Oh, I will." His voice was a murmur, almost tender. "But you're going to ask nicely first."
"Never."
"Never?" He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. "We'll see." His hands found your wrists, pinning them above your head. The desk was cool against your back, the wood smooth and unforgiving.
"Stay," he said, and the command was absolute.
He released your wrists, and you kept them there. You didn't know why you obeyed. You just... did.
5012 pulled back, and you watched him move around the room. He retrieved a length of silk from somewhere his drawer, maybe, or the back of the sofa and returned to stand over you.
"Arms stay up," he said, and there was no room for negotiation.
You raised them, and he bound your wrists together, wrapping the silk with meticulous precision. Not too tight. Just enough to remind you that you were at his mercy.
"Sit up," he said next.
You obeyed.
He unbuttoned your shirt with slowness, revealing your chest inch by inch. The air was cool against your skin. Your nipples tightened, and you saw his gaze track the reaction.
"Beautiful," he murmured, and the word was almost reverent. His hands found your pants again, and this time, you didn't resist. He tugged them down your hips, exposing your thighs and the heat pooling between them.
"Spread your legs." The command was low, causing you to hesitated, just. little. He slapped your thighโnot hard, just enough to make you gasp. "I said spread your legs."
You obeyed, shame and arousal tangling in your chest. "Good." He stepped between your thighs, and the pressure of him there was maddening. "Look at you. So turned on for me. And you still haven't said what I want to hear."
"I don't knowโ"
"Yes, you do." He leaned in, lips brushing your throat. "You know exactly what you need to say. But you're too stubborn to say it." His fingers found your core, tracing the heated areaย with devastating precision. You arched into his touch, a desperate sound escaping your lips.
"I wonder," he murmured, "how long you'll last before you break."
His thumb found your clit, circling with agonizing slowness. Your hips bucked. He pulled away. "Ah-ah." He tsked softly. "I didn't say you could move."
"Please," you breathed, and the word shocked you.
"Please what?"
"Please... touch me.โ
He halfway smiled. It was a cruel thing, that smile. "That's not the right answer."
You didn't know what he wanted. Honestly, you were too far gone, too desperate, too lost in the haze of pleasure and frustration.
"I wonder," he said again, and his voice was a low murmur against your skin, "if you know how much I've wanted this. How many nights I've lain awake, wondering what it would take to break you."
His hand slid from your core to your thigh, gripping hard enough to bruise. "I wonder," he continued, "if you know what it does to me when you look at me like that. Like you know exactly what you're doing."
"I don'tโ"
"Yes, you do." His lips found your throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. "You've known since the day you arrived. And you've been playing with me ever since." His fingers found your core again, slipping inside you with cruel precision. You cried out, hips bucking against his hand.
"That's it." His voice was soft, almost affectionate. "Let go, my dear. Let me see what you've been hiding." His thumb found your clit again, circling in time with his fingers, and you felt the pressure building, building, buildingโ
And then he stopped.
"Not yet," he murmured, pulling away. "Not until you say it."
You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. "Say wha?" you gasped.
He leaned in, voice a whisper that made your blood run hot. "Say you're mine."ย
"Please," you breathed. "Pleaseโ"
"Say it."
"I'mโ" You swallowed hard, shame and desire warring in your chest. "I'm yours."
His breath shuddered out of him. "Again."
"I'm yours."
"That's my good little brat."
His hand found your core again, and this time, he didn't stop. He drove you higher and higher, watching your face with those purple eyes, and when you finally cameโwhen the pleasure crashed through you like a waveโhe held you through it, murmuring soft praise against your skin. "Good. So good. My perfect, infuriating little menace."
You clung to him, breathless, shaking.
And when you finally came back to yourself, you found him watching you with an expression that made your heart stutter.
"One more thing," he said, and the deepness in his voice made you shiver.
"What?"
His hands found your hips, flipping you over onto your stomach. The silk binding your wrists tightened, and you felt the stretch in your shoulders.
"One more round," he said, and his voice was a whisper against your ear. "And then we'll see if you still have any fight left in you."
You laughed, despite everything. "You'll never break me."
"No." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "But watching you try to hold out will be incredibly entertaining." His hand came down on your ass, sharp and unexpected, and you cried out.
"Count for me,โ he said.
"One."
Another strike. Harder. "Two."
"Three."
"Good." His hand traced the stinging skin, soothing the ache. "Now tell meโwas it worth it?"
You laughed, breathless. "Every second."
He shook his head, but there was a smile on his faceโa half real smile, open and warm. His hand found your waist, turning you over again, and he lowered himself over you, weight settling against your body.
"Mm. Arenโt you truly enjoying thisโฆ" He pressed a kiss to your throat. "I wonder how many rounds it'll take to truly break you."
You laughed, open and free. "You'll be wondering for a while."
He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "I figured." His hand found your core again, and you arched into his touch. Then pressed a kiss to your collarbone. "Let's fix that."
He pulled away just enough to look at you, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath catch. โLetโs see,โ he said, "we're going to try something different."
โDifferent?โ You asked, little bit dazed.
"Mm." He produced a length of silk from somewhereโyou didn't know where, and you didn't care. "Sensory deprivation."
"Iโ"
"Shh." He pressed a finger to your lips. "You said you wanted to see what I have. This is what I have."
He slipped the silk over your eyes, and the sudden darkness was disorienting. Your other senses sharpened: the smell of his cologne, the warmth of his body, the rasp of his breath.
"Now," he murmured, "I want you to focus. On every touch. Every sound. Every breath." His hand found your throat, and the pressure was just enough to ground you. "Don't think about what's coming next," he said. "Just... be. Here. With me."
You obeyed.
His lips found your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breast. His hands roamed your body, cataloging every curve, every inch of skin.
"Tell me," he murmured, "what do you feel?"
"You."
"Specifics."
Your laugh was breathless. "Where you touch me. Your lips. Your hands."
"Good." His teeth grazed your nipple, and you gasped. "What else?"
"Your voice. The silk on my skin. The cool wood."
"Fascinating." He pulled away slightly, and you heard the rustle of fabric. "And now?"
A blindfold over your eyes had already stolen sight. But when something soft wrapped around your wrists, when you felt the silk thread through the desk's hardware and knot tight, you realized your arms had been bound to the legs of the furniture, just spread open, wrists tethered either side of you.
You tugged, just once, testing. You rattled the whole desk. 5012 chuckled "Good. You're still breathing. Perfect." He paused, considering.
"I wonder... if you're going to be good."
You opened your mouth, and a sharp, stinging bite landed high on your thighโnot hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make your muscles jump and a small, sharp sound escape you. He soothed the spot with his tongue before pulling back.
"That was a test," he said. "You passed."
"Test?" you echoed, voice rough.
"Mm." He settled between your thighs, and you felt the warmth of his breath against your core.ย His mouth found you, tongue tracing the slick folds with devastating precision. You arched against the bindings, a desperate sound escaping your lips.
His tongue circled your clit, and you shattered.
When you came back to yourself, you were trembling. The bindings had shifted, the silk looser than before. 5012 watched you with an expression that was both fierce and tender.
โSuch a good little brat,โ he breathed, mocking you a little. "Yet still I'm not done with you," he murmured. "But you're doing so well."
The impact came where he'd struck beforeโover the same reddened spot, landing again and again until your thighs quivered and a pathetic little noise you'd never admit to had started to bubble up from your chest.
You tried to muffle it.
5012 noticed, causing his hand moved, tangling in your hair, pulling your head back just enough that he could see your face. "I want to hear you," he murmured. "I want to hear exactly how it feels to be completely and thoroughly punished."
The next strike was harderโa proper, solid blow that landed with a crack and sent a shock of sensation straight through you.
"Count again," he said.
"F-fuckโ" You choked.
He sighs, adding, "Thatโs isnโt counting, must I remind you?" He alternatedโone side, then the other, leaving you no time to brace or recover. You lost count. You lost yourself. Every sharp crack of his palm against your skin was a shock of pain and pleasure that blurred the world into something pale and bright around you.
The corner of the desk bit into your hip. His hands cradled you through the worst of it. "Should I stop?" he asked, and his voice was almost gentle.
"No," you heard yourself say. โPlease don't stop."
He soothed the sting with his palm, stroking over the reddened skin as if he could erase the marks. You leaned back into him, and he caught you, steadying you with his arms.
The next hour was a blur of strikes and whispers, of his body against yours, of his hands and his teeth and the dark, hungry sounds he made when you surrendered. His voice above your ear was steady, guidingโthe firm, watchful tone that stirred something deep in your gut.
"Hm," he murmured, "let me see."
The world tilted again. He turned you, moved you, and you felt the press of the desk against your hip.
"Keep your knees spread. Good. Now hold still."
The belt slid free from the loops with a soft hiss of leather. โA more proper punishment," he said, "has to make an impression. Otherwise, what's the point?"
He smoothed a hand over the spot he'd chosenโyour thigh, where the skin was sensitive, still tender from all the attentionโand you heard his huff of approval when you jerked.
"Perfect."
The first lash landed before you could brace. It wasn't blinding, more just a quick, sharp stripe of fire across your skin.
Then another. And another.
By the third, you'd started to feel the world sway. By the sixth, you were starting to shake. Your hair had come loose from its bindings, pooling over the edge of the desk. You were trembling, your body starved and aching and craving a release you weren't sure you'd ever get.
"Just a few more," he murmured, and he sounded almost apologetic. "You're doing so well."
"Please 5012,โ you gasped.
"Please what?"
"Please let meโ"
"Let you what?"
You couldn't get the words out. Your throat was raw, your body trembling, every nerve ending alight with desperate, aching need. You just shook your head, and he sighedโlong, slow, almost pitying.
"Please," you breathed, the word barely a whisper, "just fuck me already..."
The look on your faceโthat constantly irritated, defiant gaze that had been your armor since the day you arrived was already giving way a desperate look for him.
5012 watched the transformation with dark fascination, his purple eyes tracing the flush spreading across your cheeks, the way your lips parted on each desperate exhale, the slight furrow of your brow as you fought to maintain some shred of composure.
He couldn't help but imagine how your desperate eyes would look underneath the blindfold. How they'd widen. How they'd glisten. How they'd plead with him in ways your mouth never would.
"Hm... alright," he said, and his voice was warm, almost tender, but there was an edge to it, โI suppose you've earned it."
His hands found your hips firm and he repositioned you. He pulled your hips up, angling you just the way he wanted against his disk, and you felt him press against the aching heat of youโthe blunt head of his cock sliding through your slick folds, teasing, taunting.
He didn't push inside. More like he just held you there, breathing against your ear, the warmth of his exhale sending shivers down your spine.ย
"I wonder," he murmured, and the words were soft, almost reverent, "how many times I've imagined this. You, bent over my desk. You, falling apart beneath me. You, finally quiet for once."
You whimperedโan involuntary sound that made him chuckle.
"Patience, my dear," he said. "We have all afternoon. Itโs my lunch break after all." He notched himself at your entrance, the pressure maddening, and then finally, he pushed inside.
You cried out.
It was a sound that was half pain, half relief, torn from the depths of your chest. He filled you perfectly, stretching you open, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth, devastating motion. Your fingers tried scrabbled against the polished wood of the desk, for something to ground you. But aw, did you already forget that your wrists were still bound?
His hips rocked against yours, a slow, deep pace that made stars burst behind your eyes, from all that spanking has you on edge. His hands gripped your hips like a lifeline, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise.
"Now fully answered question? Is this what you wanted?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble with a few occasionally grunts "Is this what you were waiting for?"
"Yes," you gasped, the word punched out of you with each thrust, "yesโ"
"Good." He pulled out, almost completely, and then thrust back inโmore harder, deeper, more punishing. "Because I've been waiting for this too."
His hand found your throat, not tight, just... there. A presence. A reminder of exactly who was in control. His fingers curled around the column of your neck, thumb resting against your pulse point, feeling the frantic beat of your heart.
"For so long," he continued, his voice dropping to something almost confessional. "Every time you sat on my desk. Every time you poked my chest. Every time you looked at me with that infuriating smirk." He punctuated each word with a thrust, driving himself deeper each time.ย
"I always wondered what it would take to finally shut you up."
You couldn't respond. You could barely breathe. The pleasure was too much, too intense, too everything. His cock filled you perfectly, hitting that spot deep inside that made your vision blur. His hand on your throat, the weight of him against your back, the way he moved inside you with relentless, unforgiving precisionโ
"I love the way you feel," he murmured, and the words were almost tender. "The way you take me. The way you clench around me when I move."
You sobbedโa broken, desperate sound. Your body was no longer your own. It belonged to him, to this moment, to the overwhelming tide of pleasure that threatened to drown you.
"That's it," he breathed. "Let go now." His pace quickened, became more frantic, more urgent. His hips slapped against yours with each thrust, the sound obscene and perfect. His hand tightened on your throat, just slightly, and you felt the pressure build, build, buildโ
And then you shattered.
The orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, building from somewhere deep in your core and spreading outward in concentric rings of pure, blinding pleasure. Your body arched against the desk, the wood cool against your heated skin, and a soft cry was torn from your lipsโswallowed by the darkness of the blindfold, by the weight of him pressed against you, by the sheer overwhelming intensity of it all.
Your inner walls clenched around his cock, pulsing that seemed to go on forever. Each contraction drew a shuddering breath from your lungs, each pulse of pleasure sending sparks dancing behind your blinded eyes.
5012 followed you over the edge with a guttural groan that seemed to be ripped from somewhere deep in his chest. His hips pressed flush against you, driving as deep as he could go, and you felt the warm pulse of his releaseโthick and hot, filling you completely.ย
He held himself there, buried to the hilt, and you felt every spasm of his body against yours, every tremor that ran through his frame.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word ragged and raw, and you'd never heard him sound so undone.
For a long moment, neither of you moved.ย
The only sounds were your mingled breathing and the distant hum of the Underworld beyond the office walls. Then, slowly, he pulled out.
You felt the loss of him, still aching and somehow still desperate for more. A rush of warmth followed, and you knew without seeing that his release was seeping out of you, trickling down the inside of your thigh; feeling his hands were steady despite the tremor in his breath, and when he settled you against the wood, you felt his gaze on you like a physical weight.
The blindfold came off.
You blinked against the sudden light, disoriented, and found him looking down at you. His face was flushed, his hair disheveled, his usually immaculate composure completely shattered. His eyes were soft in a way you'd never seen. A little more vulnerable.
"Fuck," he said again, and this time it was almost reverent.
You laughed, or tried to. It came out as a breathless wheeze. "Eloquent."
He huffed a laugh, surprised and warm, and the sound made something in your chest ache. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, your neck, the corner of your jaw.
"That," he murmured against your skin, "was worth every single complaint."
"I have a lot of complaints."
"I'm sure you do." He pulled back, and there was a smile playing at the corner of his mouthโreal and unguarded. "File them later."
You watched as he reached down, his fingers finding the mess between your thighs. He gathered some of the evidence of his cum and pushed it back inside you that made you gasp.
"Can't have you dripping all over my desk," he murmured, and there was something darkly amused in his voice. "I still have work to do."
You opened your mouth to respond, to fire back some clever retort, but the words died in your throat when he withdrew his ungloved fingers and brought them to his lips. He tasted himself there, eyes never leaving yours, and the obscenity of it made your breath catch.
"Now," he said, pulling you into a sitting position and lifting you off the desk. "Let's get you cleaned up."
You let him carry you across the room, too boneless to protest. He settled you on the edge of the sofa and knelt before you, grabbing a cloth from somewhereโyou didn't see where, didn't careโand began to clean you with careful, almost reverent precision.
"And then?" you prompted, your voice rough.
"And then." He paused, looking up at you. There was something soft in his gaze, something that made your heart stutter. "I wonder," he murmured, "how many more times you're going to make me do that."
You reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "Keep wondering," you whispered. "I'll keep surprising you."
He kissed you thenโsoft and slow and achingly tender. His lips moved against yours like he had all the time in the world, like there was nothing else that mattered. His hand cradled your jaw, thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone.
When he pulled back, you were both breathless.
"I think," You started, "I could get used to this."
He opened his mouth to respondโ
The office door slid open with a hiss. "Lunch time isย over! I was wondering when you'd finally get around to finishing those reports, 5012, because 0213 and I have some questions about the soul allocation forโ"
Atlas froze in the doorway.
The scene before him was... a lot. You, perched on the edge of the sofa, still flushed and disheveled, your shirt half-unbuttoned and your pants somewhere on the floor. 5012, standing before you, shirt untucked, hair a mess, his hand still cradling your jaw.
The silence stretched between the three of you like a wire pulled taut. Atlas blinked. Once. Twice. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.
"Iโ" he started.
5012 rose to his feet with the kind of deliberate, unhurried grace that suggested he wasn't even slightly embarrassed. "The door was closed," he said flatly.
"It was. It... definitely was." Atlas's gaze darted between the two of you. โI-I can come back."
"You can wait," 5012 said, and his voice was pure command. "Outside."
Atlas's eyes went wide, and he stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Right. Yep. Outside. I'll just... I'll just wait out here. For... however long. No rush. Take your time. All the time in the world, really."
The door slid shut behind him.
You started to laugh. It bubbled up from somewhere deep in your chest, uncontrollable and helpless. "Oh my god."
5012 looked at you, his expression caught somewhere between exasperated and amused. "This isn't funny."
"It's hilarious." You leaned back against the sofa, still laughing. "He's never going to look at you the same way again."
5012 sighed, long and defeated. "Get dressed," he said, and his voice was almost fond. "And then I suppose we have to deal with him." He straightened his shirt and ran a hand through his hair, trying in vain to restore some semblance of order.
"One minute," he called toward the door. "We'll be ready in one minute." He turned back to you, and there was a lightness in his expression that you hadn't seen before.
"Then," he said, and his voice was warm, "we can see what other wonders you have in store."
iyayadonna, all rights reserved. โ โห แญเฝฒเผแฏเพ ๊ฉ ใโ .แ
๐ถ/๐: apologies dearies, never thought in my life this will ever be the most difficult fanfic I have ever wrote this has been sitting in my drafts, and I refuse to move on from it until it was completed... (ยฌ๏ฝคยฌ), plus i had @mint0hhh in mind, numder one 5012 fangirl!
แญเฝฒเผแฏเพ โโ Ink spun from my own fingertipsโplease donโt take, mirror, or rewrite it.
โ ๐ป๐๐ถ๐๐๐๐พ๐๐: ronin, angel, misaki and v (๐๐ธ: 8.2k)
โ ๐๐ถ๐๐: oneshot/s ยท kchat x gn! reader ยท kchat x gn! reader ยท retired serial killer ยท religious imagery ยท body horror mentioned ยท lil angst ยท hurt/comfort mutual wariness ยท implied violence ยท psychological horror ยท morally grey ยท let the reader be the monster for once
โ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: from anon! Would you do a fic where reader is a retired serial killer who used to do kills way worse than his and was named โthe antichristโ cause the bodies were often placed in a crucifix position and they were all rotten (eyes caved out, head open, heart missing and organs spilling from the body)
โ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐พ๐: Four killers. One server. And a retired monster who makes them all look like amateurs. They thought they knew what evil looked like. They were wrong. And now they have to decide:
Is the monster who stopped more dangerous than the ones who never did?
The Slaughterhouse Losers have a rule: no normies.ย
Everyone in that server has blood on their hands, a body count they can't erase, and a reason they'll never see the outside of a prison cell.ย
They are killers with different goals and they've built their fragile little community on the understanding that they are all the same breed of broken.ย They trust each other because they have no choiceโwho else would accept them? Who else could look at the things they've done and not flinch?ย
The rule keeps them safe. The rule keeps them together.
Until you join.
You see at first, you seem like one of them, kind, capable, and honest with that particular stillness that only comes from having ended lives. But as the weeks pass, they start to notice something different about you.ย
You're not a thrillkiller like Ronin, who treats murder like a game and death like an aesthetic.ย You're not a vigilante like V, who kills with clinical precision and calls it justice.ย You're not an assassin like Misaki, who turns murder into salary pay, or a cannibal like Angel, who hunts with elegance and eat with cruelty.ย
You don't hunt at all anymore. You don't kill. You just... exist. Close like someone who used to be on fire and has long since burned out.
You're retired.
But, you know the server isn't stupid. They run background checks on everyone, after all it's standard protocol, a safety measure born from paranoia and hard-earned trust issues.ย
Ronin is the one who starts digging, because he's always been too curious for his own good. He pokes around dark web archives, looking for traces of your old work, not because he doesn't trust you, but because he's fascinated.ย
You're too normal. Way too composed and functional for someone who used to kill people. There has to be a story there, and Ronin wants to read it.
Then he finds the articles.
They're little old, somewhat buried deep in the forgotten corners of the internet, scrubbed from most mainstream databases by algorithms and time. But the underground forums remember. The whispers never truly die. And what they whisper about is you.
"The Antichrist," the articles call you.ย
An unidentified serial killer active from 2016 to 2020.ย
The estimated victim count stands at thirty-seven confirmed, though the real number is likely higher, as in some bodies were never found, some cases never connected.ย
The signature alone was unmistakable: bodies arranged in crucifixion poses, arms outstretched, nailed or tied to whatever surface would hold them. Eyes removed from their sockets. Skulls cracked open, brains exposed to the elements.ย
Hearts extracted from chest cavities. Organs spilled across the ground like offerings at a grotesque altar. All victims were found in states of advanced decompositionโsome had been dead for weeks before discovery, their bodies left to rot in public spaces where they would inevitably be found.
The religious symbolism was careful and devastating.
ย The victims were almost exclusively corrupt clergy, televangelists, or figures of organized religion, such as men and women who had used their positions of power to abuse, exploit, and destroy.ย
Somehow the killer left no DNA, no witnesses, no pattern that law enforcement could predict or trace. The nickname came from both the method of display and the killer's apparent mockery of Christian iconography, truly a crucifixion that was also a condemnation, a punishment that was also a sermon.
Ronin stares at the screen.
His hands are still. His breathing is shallow. For once in his life, he has absolutely nothing to say. The devil-horn beanie on his head feels like a joke now, a cheap costume compared to the real thing sitting in his server.ย
He thought he was the monster in the room. He thought his crowbar and his chaos made him dangerous. But you?ย
You made him look like a Sunday school teacher.
The server is quiet. Like an unusually quiet.
Everyone was on the server voice chat utterly speechless once they heard the news about you.
Meaning, Misaki is muted for once, so no chaotic noise, no breathless rambling. Angel's camera is off, her profile picture frozen in its usual heart-shaped perfection. V's typing bubble appears and disappears without sending anything in the main chat, like he's starting and stopping a dozen sentences he can't finish. The silence stretches with a heavy and suffocating, until finally Ronin speaks.
"So."
Just one word is all he said. Flat and in all, his voice had a strange, not angry, not scared, just... processing tone. Like he's trying to fit this new information into the picture he had of you, and nothing is aligning.
"The Antichrist." He says it slowly, tasting the weight of the name. "That was you."
"Yes."
Silence again. Angel unmutes, her voice softer than usual, hesitant in a way you've never heard from her before.ย
"The bodies were..." She pauses, searching for words that won't sound inadequate. "I've seen a lot of things. I've done a lot of things. But the descriptions I readโ"
"They're accurate." You cut her off gently, not defensive, not proudโjust honest. "Every detail. Every body. Every crime. It was all me."
V's voice cuts in, calm and clinical as always, but there's an edge to it nowโsomething careful, something measured. "Thirty-seven confirmed victims. All religious figures. All found in states of advanced decomposition. The crucifixion positioning. The organ removal. The..." He hesitates, and for a moment he sounds almost human. "The eyes."
You don't flinch at all.ย
You've made peace with what you didโor at least, you've learned to carry it without collapsing. "I don't do that anymore."
Misaki unmutes next, their voice smaller than usual, just genuine, fragile curiosity. "What made you stop?"
For a moment the question hangs in the air. Honestly, you're quiet for a long moment, feeling the weight of four killers waiting for your answer. When you finally speak, your voice is steady but tired.
โTon of therapy," you say. "And medication. And the realization that I was becoming the thing I hated." Another pause, little longer this time. "I killed monsters. But somewhere along the way, I stopped being able to tell the difference between them and me. So I stopped. I got help. I started trying to be human again."
The silence that follows is different. Like there wasnโt no judgment, not fear, but something closer to understanding.ย
Ronin, who never shuts up. Ronin, who turns everything into a joke, who treats murder like a game and death like an aesthetic. Ronin, who styled himself after the devil and wore his cruelty like a crown.
Three days of silence from the loudest person in the server.
When he finally messages you, it's private. Very much random and late at night. Just two three, typed slowly, like he's still figuring out how to say them.
@.goreboy: and i thought i was the devil
@.goreboy: but u made me look like a sunday school teacher
@.goreboy: how do u live with it
And you saw it. You was staying up late doing whatever.
You think about his question. it made you think about the years of therapy, the medication, the sleepless nights, the nightmares that still come sometimes. You think about the weight you carry every single day, and how it gets a little lighter with time.
You: One day at a time.
You: And I don't do it anymore.
@.goreboy: u rly stopped? just like that?
You: It wasn't just like that. It took years. It took help. It took wanting to stop.
@.goreboy: ...does it get easier?
You: Hell no. But like, you get better at carrying it.
@.goreboy: fuck
@.goreboy: i think i need a minute
He doesn't message you again that night. But the next morning, there's a meme in the serverโa religious meme, something about "when god sees you sinning and just sighs."ย
It's from him. Tagged with @.you.
@.goreboy: u know this reminded me of u
@.goreboy: welcome to the server btw
@.goreboy: u earned it
It's not forgiveness nor acceptance. But it's something, like between the person he thought you were and the person you actually are.ย
And for Ronin, that's as close to an olive branch as he knows how to give.
Angel takes it differently. She's silent during the group call, her camera off, her presence reduced to a username and a muted icon. When she finally speaks, her voice is carefully controlledโthe same voice she uses at work, at parties, at moments when she's performing for people she despises.ย
She's wearing her mask, and it's seamless.
"I'd like to talk to you privately."
You agree. Her private message arrives a few minutes later, and it's unexpected.
@.angelic: I read the files.
@.angelic: You killed a televangelist in 2014. Marcus Webb. He ran a megachurch that funneled millions from his congregation while his family lived in luxury.
@.Angelic: The article didn't mention that he was laundering money for a human trafficking ring. I found it in a federal investigation file that got buried.
@.Angelic: His victims were children. Immigrants. People who trusted him because he wore a collar and spoke of God's love.
You wait. You don't deny it. There's no point.
@.Angelic: I've spent years watching people like that. People who use faith as a weapon, who hide their cruelty behind pretty words and stained glass windows.
@.Angelic: I've killed people like that too.
@.Angelic: But I never did what you did. I never made it a performance. I never made them face what they'd done before I ended them.
A long pause. You can almost see her typing, deleting, typing again.
@.Angelic: You made them look at their own sins.
@.Angelic: How did you make them see?
You: I showed them their victims. Photographs. Testimonies. Everything they'd tried to bury.
You: I made them read the names aloud before I took anything from them.
@.Angelic: ...I think I understand you.
@.Angelic: I don't like that I understand you.
@.Angelic: But I do. You're not my favorite person right now. But you're not the monster I thought you were. And I think... I think maybe that means something.
Something changes after that conversation.
Angel still treats you with her usual eleganceโyou know the way she always seems to be performing for an audience. But there's a warmth beneath it now. A recognition. A shared understanding that goes beyond the surface.
She starts sending you links to articles about corrupt religious figures. Sometimes with a simple message: "Found another one. You'd have liked this case."
She starts inviting you to her shopping tripsโnot as a bodyguard or a lookout, but as a companion. Someone who understands the weight of what they've done and still chooses to move forward.
One night, after a particularly difficult mission, she messages you at 3 AM.
@.Angelic: I still dream about them sometimes.
@.Angelic: The ones I killed. Not the ones who deserved itโthe ones who were just... collateral.
@.Angelic: I don't know how to make peace with that.
You: You don't have to make peace with it. You just have to carry it.
@.Angelic: Is that what you do?
You: Every day.
@.Angelic: ...Does it get easier?
You: No. But you get better at carrying it.
@.Angelic: That's not very comforting.
You: It's honest.
@.Angelic: ...I think I prefer honesty. Thank you. For being honest. For not pretending you're something you're not. I don't trust many people. But I think I trust you.
You: lol that's a dangerous thing to say to someone like me.
@.Angelic: I know. That's why I said it.
She doesn't say she forgives you. She doesn't say she approves of what you did. But she says she understands and for Angel, who has spent her entire life being misunderstood by everyone who wasn't a victim, that's a gift she doesn't give lightly.
She still wears her masks. She still performs. She still kills with elegance and cruelty when the situation calls for it. But when she's with you, the mask slips. Just a little. Just enough to show the person underneath.
And you realize, with a quiet sort of wonder, that she's not afraid of you.
Misaki is the only one who doesn't change how they treat you.
They still send you memes. Still invite you to voice chat. Still talk about their assassination vacations like you're just another friend in the serverโmaybe a slightly weirder one, but still a friend.
But one night, after a rough mission, they message you privately. Their usual chaos is dialed down, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable.
@.hitmeuppp: hey
@.hitmeuppp: i know everyone's being weird. i'm not gonna ask u about the bodies or whatever. that's not my business
@.hitmeuppp: but i want u to know
@.hitmeuppp: i've done bad things too
@.hitmeuppp: not like that but still
@.hitmeuppp: bad things
@.hitmeuppp: and i still wake up sometimes and think "oh god what did i do" and i just wanted to say
@.hitmeuppp: i think it's brave that u stopped
@.hitmeuppp: i don't think i could stop
@.hitmeuppp: so yeah, that's all
You: Misaki.
@.hitmeuppp: yeah?
You: Thank you.
@.hitmeuppp: anytime bestie ๐
@.hitmeuppp: wanna play a game? i'm bored and v is being boring
You play games with them until 3 AM. Neither of you mentions the conversation again. That quiet understanding, a shared recognition of the weight you both carry.
Misaki doesn't judge you.ย They just... accept you, in that chaotic, unconditional way they accept everyone who earns their trust.
โ ๐ | @.๐ฆ๐ฟ
V's reaction to you was the most unemotional attitude?
The best way to explain it that he doesn't avoid you. Hell He doesn't treat you differently. He simply observesโlike you're a case study, like he's waiting for you to slip, to reveal the monster beneath the mask.
Weeks pass. Then, one night, he messages you. The message is precise, measured, exactly what you'd expect from him.
@.K9: I have reviewed the files on your previous... activities.
@.K9: I have also reviewed your therapy records. Your medical history. Your current lifestyle.
@.K9: You are not a threat to this group.
@.K9: I have concluded that your presence is acceptable.
You: That's very generous of you.
@.K9: It is not generosity. It is a statistical conclusion.
@.K9: I would like to ask you one question.
@.K9: Do you regret it?
You consider his question for a bit. The honest answer is complicated, but you've never lied to these people, and you're not about to start.
You: Yes and no.
@.K9: Explain.
You: I don't regret the people I killed. They were monsters. They deserved what they got.
You: I regret how I killed them. The cruelty. The performance. The need to make them suffer instead of just ending them.
You: I became a monster to kill monsters. And I don't think that's something to be proud of.
@.K9: ...I understand.
@.K9: I have done things I am not proud of. I have killed people who deserved it, but I have also killed people who could have been redeemed.
@.K9 The difference between us is that you stopped.
@.K9: I havenโt. I don't know if I can.
You: You can.
@.K9: How do you know?
You: Because you're still asking yourself that question.
@.K9: ...
@.K9: I think I owe you an apology. I misjudged you.
You: You judged me correctly. You just didn't have all the information.
@.K9: I have it now. And I think... I think I'm glad you're here.
It's not a declaration of friendship. It's not forgiveness.
But it's V's acknowledgmentโa recognition that you are more than the worst thing you've ever done
pov: me. supposed to be catching up on inky asks, writing oneshots and headcanons, seeing them pile up every day... instead i'm over here playing adwd 1 AND 2, and even bought the damn DLC (beyond bet and expansion) because i officially fell in love with casper.
like. this is fine. everything is fine. the requests will wait. casper will not.
@mint0hhh look what you have done, help me please ๐
Hello hello, I come with another yapping while I'm on my 10 minute study break ๐
First thing since I'm fresh off of studying for psych midterms, I think I recall you mentioning you are a tutor? :00 That's so cool! But anyways, alas, I do have a question:
HOW DO YOU STUDY??? ๐ญ and like, actually RETAIN it? I may or may not be losing my mind a little bit ๐ซถ
But moving on, how is your journey with RE9 so far, if youve have the time to get into it? :D Another confession, and this is likely going to be absolutely diabolical to the majority of normal people, but Victor Gideon has taken over my mind like the T-Virus disease. He is lowkey foul and probably smells like moist cellar crypt but mad scientist characters are just so... ๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถ.
Anyways my 10 minutes are almost up, take care and yap over!! :) ๐ซถ
omg heyyy kodariss! my bad as i was scrolling through my 100+ inbox to figureout what's the next headcanons or oneshot and didn't realize you left a message for me ๐ญ damn, i hope you see this!!
okay firstโYES i am a tutor!! i tutor psychology/neuroscience for incoming freshman and papers (for those 100 level English classes) mostly, but honestly??
studying is still a struggle for me too sometimes.
the classic "how do you retain information" question... listen. the truth? active recall and spaced repetition are the only things that actually work for me. like. i'll read something, close the book, and force myself to write down everything i remember. then check what i missed. repeat. it's painful but it WORKS. also teaching it to someone else (even just out loud to no one) helps solidify it.
for psych specifically just connect everything to real life examples. makes it stick way better than just memorizing definitions.
secondโRE9: requiem. okay so i BEEN complete the gameplay, (i think like three months ago,) well as in I watch my favorite YouTuber do the gameplay as i don't not have PS5, i own a switch.
anyway, WHY IS VICTOR GIDEON IN YOUR BRAIN??? like bffr, that man was genuinely terrifying ๐ญ
it was so funny how he was talking to leon in such an intimate wayโespecially the way he was touching on that fine ass man. i swear i sensed a hint of jealousy when he found out leon was only there for grace. like sir... you're a villain. why are you pressed??
okay but i will give it to youโvictor's voice is a little attractive.
not my type personally, but i can see where you're coming from. i've seen people using face cam AND shirtless mods for this man. like everyone is genuinely freaked about big vic and i respect the dedication.
and honestly?? i can definitely see him in a scenario where he's just gently talking to you. comforting like. he definitely knows how to get praise, talks you through it, could be tender too. especially that scene with graceโit was tender yet aggressive at the same time. when he said "rest now grace"... that just proves he would definitely talk you through it. soft dom energy fr.
UGH noooo. i will NOT be converted into liking this man.
I wasnt sure if I should do an anon ask but well, guess I was feeling bold? The ticket tacker (was that the name?) nsfw alphabet spawned in my recommendations and I was like "hold on ..."
The more I read the more I kept wondering when had it been the last time I read something so in character and actually logical, it was very satisfying
So I didnt scroll much because I kind of didnt want to suddenly attack your notificacions by liking everything but in the much I saw I am CURIOUS to ask, have you read "I am the grim reaper"?, the webtoon about the black haired girl who is dead an now does as Satan's reaper toy
(mostly because it immediatly made me think of Chase having a nsfw alphabet himself)
If not I recommend it, and I dont know why but I have the feeling that you'd be the type of person who loves actually complex characters
If that happens to be the case, I RECOMMEND YOU TO READ HAND JUMPER, it's in webtoon, one of the most peak I've found, super underrated and the mc really makes you pause, grab holy water and ask "wtf was that"
(Following you so more of your writings spawn in my recommendations even if I don't know a lot of the fandoms you're in)
Lovely dayy ๐
holy shit HOLY SHIT. YOU BROUGHT BACK PEAK RIGHT THERE AHHH
when i was in high school i absolutely adored "I'm the Grim Reaper" โ that was literally my shit growing up. just from reading your ask something felt familiar and i was like "haven't i read this before??" and then when i went to go search it up... of COURSE i have read it before. dummy. grim reapers are literally my favorite supernatural being how could i ever forget something like this?????
and Scarlet was my FAV. i loved how she's so secretive except with trusted people, but also sincere and gives away her emotions easily. whether it's from her amnesia or just her personality, she often doesn't get double entendres and comes across naive. found it so interesting how over the course of her time as a reaper, she kept choosing her emotions over logical decisions. like yes girl be messy i support you.
as much as i wanna speak more about it, i haven't read it in so long and i just looked it up now and saw it's currently on hiatus ๐ญ i'll have to reread the whole thing since i only really remember Scarlet and a little bit of Chase.
and ok... you might hate me for this but... i never really liked Chase ๐ he was a little plain for my taste. not interesting enough. i definitely got annoyed every time he appeared like "oh great here he comes to help Scarlet with something" like go somewhere PLEASE.
i just wanted more of her on her own.
to answer your second question; no i haven't read Hand Jumper! from what i can share i was reading a ton of School Bus Graveyard back then. now THAT was my ALL TIME FAV too.
growing up i had this cute obsession with Ashlyn, like she was so cool. and throw Aiden in there too. he was annoying at first but he grew on me. the whole phantom dimension, the crossover, all of it.
i'm fully caught up on the webtoon and i've heard season three is supposed to come out soon and i genuinely cannot wait. and don't worry about being a yapper because i can also yap when i have the time hahaha ๐ค
thanks for the recs and for following!! even if you don't know all the fandoms i'm in, i appreciate you sticking around.
โ jester x gn! reader (๐๐ธ: 3.9k) (๐พ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐: "wine pon you" by doja cat)
๐๐ถ๐๐: sex ambiguous ยท smut ยท clothed sex ยท begging ยท brat taming ยท breathplay ยท collar play ยท consensual non-consent (CNC) ยท discipline ยท humiliation ยท orgasm denial ยท pet play ยท slave/pet training ยท brainwashing ยท kidnapping/abduction ยท dirty talk.
๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐พ๐: Somehow, lost in the shadows of circus, caught in the grip of a massive purple monster who decided you were his to keep.ย
Jester got you trapped. He's got you breathless while humming that song againโone that makes you want to move, to roll, to wine. He's going to make you beg. He's going to make you squirm. And by the time he's done, you'll beย winingย on him like your life depends on it. It might.
You hadn't meant to end up here.
Really, you hadn't because It had started with a wrong turnโone of those stupid, reckless decisions that felt like a good idea at the time.ย
The kind that made you think "what's the worst that could happen?" right before the universe decided to show you exactly what the worst that could happen looked like.
The streets had twisted in on themselves, familiar landmarks dissolving into unfamiliar shadows. The carnival lights that had once seemed so warm and inviting from a distance now flickered with something that felt distinctly hungry.ย
And then there was the matter of the tall, purple-horned figure who had simply... appeared.ย One moment you were lost. The next, you were found.
And found was a generous word for it, really.
Jester had found you stumbling through the backlot of the Circus, looking like a particularly lost lamb that had wandered into the wrong pasture.ย
His massive frame had blocked out the moonlight, casting you in deep purple shadow. His neon purple eyes had regarded you with the kind of clinical interest a zookeeper might give to an escaped penguin.
"Troublesome little thing," he'd murmured, more to himself than to you. "Pierrot will be insufferable if I let you wander off and get yourself eaten."
And then he'd snapped a leash on you.
A beautiful, elegant thing of deep purple leather that glowed faintly with an inner luminescence. It had materialized around your neck before you could even protest, the collar settling against your throat like a question you weren't sure you wanted to answer.
"Just until we figure out what to do with you," he'd said, as if that made it better.
That had been three days ago.
Three days of being Jester's... what, exactly?ย
Pet seemed too harsh. Guest seemed too generous.ย
Whatever it was, he hadn't been cruel, exactly. Jester wasn't cruel in the way Harlequin could be cruelโsharp-toothed and mocking. No, the Jester's brand of control was far more insidious.ย
It was more of a quiet authority of someone who had been in charge for so long that the very concept of being challenged had become foreign to him.
He let you sleep in a small room attached to his quartersโcozy, comfortable, and absolutely, definitively locked from the outside. He brought you meals that were surprisingly good, though he never sat with you while you ate. He spoke to you in riddles and metaphors, testing your intelligence the way one might test a new piece of equipment.
And every morning, without fail, he would attach that purple leash to your collar and take you for a walk.
Yes, a walk, close like a dog.
The first time, you'd been too stunned to protest. The second time, you'd tried to argue, and he'd simply looked at you with those ancient, patient eyes until you'd run out of words.
"You are in my circus now, little one," he'd said, his voice deep and resonant. "You will follow my rules. This is not a negotiation."
And so you'd walked, filling all the embarrassment how you ended up in this situation.
But today was different.
Today, the Jester had been... off. Distracted. Instead of taking you on your usual circuit around the grounds, he'd led you into his private study, which was a vast, cavernous space filled with books that seemed to breathe and artifacts that hummed though.
He'd settled into his massive chairโa throne, reallyโand produced a book from seemingly nowhere. Old leather, gold leaf, the kind of thing that looked like it would crumble to dust if you breathed on it wrong.
And then he'd attached your leash to his wrist and promptly forgotten about you.
You'd sat there for an hour. Then two, which turned into three. All Jester did was read, utterly absorbed, occasionally making low sounds of appreciation or displeasure as he turned pages. The neon purple glow of his eyes occasionally reflecting whatever text he was devouring.
And you? You'd been forced to sit at his feet like some kind ofโwell, like exactly what you were, apparently.
A little human that had wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time.
But eventually, your legs had started to cramp.
You'd moved around a bit. Stretched. Even tried to find a more comfortable position.
And then, in a moment of pure, reckless impulse, you'd decided that if you were going to be stuck here, you might as well make yourself comfortable. You'd crawled forward, positioning yourself right next to him on the blanket, using his massive frame as a backrest.
Jester hadn't even looked up.
He'd just continued reading, one massive hand occasionally reaching back to absently pat your head like you were a particularly well-behaved cat as he let out a low hum of his own voice.
Right, he was humming.
It was a slow tuneโsomething that seemed to pulse with an almost physical weight. You couldn't place it exactly, but there was something about the melody that made your hips want to move. The kind of heat that made you forget your own name.
"Mm-mm-mm," he hummed, the sound vibrating through his massive chest and into your back where you rested against him. "Mm-mm-mm..."
The book in his hands was old with pages that glowed faintly gold and text that seemed to shift when you looked at it too long. His eyes traced the words slowly, savoringly, as if he were tasting them.
You caught a glimpse of the title as he turned a page:
"The Garden of Earthly Delights: A Study of Sensual Transcendence" from what you can gather, it looks likeย the text exploring the intersection of physical pleasure and spiritual awakening, filled with illustrations that seemed to move at the edge of your vision.ย
Jester's voice broke through your observation.
"You've been remarkably patient, little one," he murmured, his eyes still fixed on the page. "Most humans would have complained by now. Begged for entertainment. Made themselves troublesome."
He turned another page, the sound crisp. "But you? You simply... wait. You observe. You adapt."
A pause. His hand reached back again, fingers brushing through your hair with surprising gentleness.
"It's almost endearing."
You felt the warmth of his palm against your scalp, the weight of his attention even though he wasn't looking at you. It made something flutter in your chestโsomething you didn't want to examine too closely.
"Would you like to join me properly?"
The question caught you off guard. You blinked, staring at the back of his massive head, at the elegant curve of his horns.
"Iโ"
"The blanket is large enough for two," he continued, as if you hadn't spoken. "And I find myself... curious. About how you might react to certain passages."
He shifted just a bit, creating space beside him on the soft fabric. His eyes finally left the book, turning to look at you over his shoulder. The purple glow in them was softer now, less analytical and more... inviting.
"Come. Lie beside me. I'll read to you."
It wasn't a command. Not quite. But it also wasn't really a question.
Your throat felt dry. "Read to me?"
"Mm." He turned back to the book, his massive frame settling more comfortably into the blanket. "There is a chapter here, called the dance of durrender, that I believe you might find... instructive."
His voice dropped lower, taking on a quality that made your stomach flip. "It speaks of the power in letting go. In allowing rhythm to move through you without resistance. In trusting the one who guides your steps."
The leash around your wrist gave a gentle tugโnot demanding, just... reminding. Reminding you that it was there. That he was there. That you were connected.
"What do you say, little one?"
Jester's voice was patient, almost warm. The kind of patience that came from someone who had all the time in the world.
"Shall we see what you might learn?"
Your throat felt dry. You opened your mouth to respondโto say yes, to say no, to say somethingโ
But the word that came out was: "No."
Jester's expression didn't change. Not at first. Then slowly he closed the book. "No?" His voice was calm and a hint of angerous. "You would refuse me, little one?"
You swallowed hard. The leash around your wrist suddenly felt heavier, "I... I didn't..."
But the Jester was already moving.
You didn't recall exactly how long you were stuck there. Time had a way of stretching and warping around him, like the air itself was thicker in his presence.ย
But you remembered the moment when his massive frame turned, when his weight began to settle over you like a mountain slowly deciding to rest.
The Jester's body pressed down on yours, and the world narrowed to the feeling of being crushed.
He was enormousโthere was no other word for it. His chest was broad, his shoulders wide, and when he settled his weight onto you, it felt like the entire circus had collapsed on top of your lungs.ย
You couldn't breathe. You couldn't move.ย
You could barely think.
The panic that should have surged was muted, muffled by the steady pace of his breathing, the slow hum that still vibrated through his chest and into yours. It was like being wrapped in a blanket made of stoneโimmovable, inescapable, and somehow, impossibly, safe.
He wasn't putting all of his weight on you.ย
You could tell that much. There was a subtle shift in his posture, a careful distribution of mass that kept you from being truly flattened. But it was close enough to feel like you were being pressed into the blanket by a living monument.
Close enough to make your heart race.
Close enough to make your hips twitch.
Jester's massive hand, the one that had been holding the book, lifted to prop up his head. The motion caused the leash in his grip to tighten against your throat, a gentle pressure that reminded you exactly how connected you were.
He was muttering to himself, his voice a low rumble you couldn't quite make out. Words about the book, about the illustrations, about something he'd found "particularly inspired."
Then he paused. "Hm." that hum alone vibrated through both of you. "Look at that..." His head tilted down, and you felt his eyes on you for the first time in hours.
"I almost forgot you were there, little mouse.โ
A grin spread across his features. It was the kind of smile that made your stomach flip and your thighs press together. "How curious."
He shifted around, adjusting his weight, and you felt the pressure of his body against yours change. He wasn't just lying on you anymore, more like settling.
"I wondered why I was so toasty," he mused, his voice dropping to a register that made your skin prickle. "I thought perhaps the blanket was warmer than usual. But no." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "It was you, little one. All this time. Warming me with that soft little body of yours."
You couldn't breathe. Still couldn't think nor form words, trying your best to keep the limited air inside you.
Jester's grin widened.
"You said no to me," he continued, his voice almost conversational. "I remember that. I was going to read to you. Offer you something beautiful."He shifted again, his upper body lowering, his weight pressing down even more firmly.
"But you refused."
Then Jester's arms crossed in front of you, his massive forearms pressing against the blanket on either side of your head. "So perhaps," he murmured, his hips settling against yours, "I should use one of the other methods I read about."
His lower body pressed into you, and you felt itโthe unmistakable pressure of him grinding against you, slow and teasing.
A dry hump, if you could call it.
Jester's grin was still there, but his eyes had gone neon purple to a subtle glow, filled with hunger.
"Let's see how long that 'no' lasts, shall we?"
He rolled his hips against yours, the friction of fabric against fabric sending sparks of sensation through your entire body. The weight of him, just the crushing weight of him has pinned you in place, making every movement feel like a wave crashing against stone.
"Tell me," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, "do you like being trapped like this, little one?"
Another roll of his hips, harder this time.
"Do you like being pressed into the blanket, unable to move?" His mouth found your ear again, his breath hot against your skin.
"Do you like knowing that you can't get away from me?"ย
Your body was already responding, your hips twitching against his, your breath coming in shallow gasps.ย
"I..."
"What was that?" He pulled back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes. The purple glow in his gaze was bright now, almost blinding.
"I didn't quite catch that, little one. Speak up."
"I like it," you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them.
Jester's grin widened. "Good."
His hips ground against yours again, and this time, there was no mistaking the intent behind the motion. He was teasing you. Testing you. Playing with you.
"You've been such a good little pet," he murmured, his voice dropping to something almost reverent. "So patient. So well-behaved." His hand found your throat, his fingers curling around the collar. Not tight enough to cut off your air but present enough.ย
"I think it's time you learned what happens when you say no to me, little one." His hips rolled against yours, and you felt the pressure building in your core, the heat spreading through your body.ย
"I'm going to take you apart, pet." He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else. And you're going to thank me for it."
Another roll of his hips, and you felt your resolve crumbling.
"You're going to beg for it, aren't you?"
The Jester's body moved against yours, slow and deliberate, each roll of his hips sending waves of sensation through your trapped form. The weight of him was everythingโcrushing, inescapable, very much maddening.ย
You could feel every inch of him pressed against you, the heat of his massive frame seeping through the layers of clothing that separated you.
"You feel that, little one?" His voice was a low rumble, vibrating through his chest and into yours. "That desperate little twitch of your hips? That's your body begging for something your mouth won't say."
He ground against you harder, and a broken sound escaped your lipsโsomething between a gasp and a whimper.
"There it is." The Jester's grin was audible in his voice. "That's the sound I wanted to hear."
His hips pulled back, then pressed forward again, the friction of fabric against fabric sending sparks of pleasure through your entire body. You could feel yourself growing wetter, the heat pooling between your thighs, the desperate need for more building with every passing second.
"Tell me, pet," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, "do you know what I was reading about?"
You shook your head, unable to form words.
"The dance of surrender," he continued, his voice taking on a lecturing tone that was somehow even more arousing. "It's a chapter about letting go. About trusting the one who guides you. About allowing yourself to be moved."
His hips rolled against yours, slow and deliberate.
"I think you could learn a lot from that chapter, little one. I think you're desperate to learn from it."
Another roll of his hips, and you felt yourself teetering on the edgeโthat precipice where pleasure becomes almost unbearable, where release feels so close you can taste itโ
And then he stopped.
Jester pulled back, his hips stilling against yours, and you let out a frustrated cry.
"Oh no you don't," he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. "You don't get to come yet, little one. Not until you've properly asked for it." He waited, his body motionless above you, and you could feel the ache building in your coreโthe desperate, clawing need for something, for anything.
"Please," you whispered, the word escaping before you could stop it.
"Please what, pet?" His hand tightened on the leash, just slightly. "Use your words."
"Please... please let me come..."
Jester hummed thoughtfully, his hips pressing forward just enough to tease you. "Hm. That's a start." Another grind, slow and torturous. "But I think you can do better than that."
His free hand found your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. The purple glow of his eyes was bright, almost blinding, and his expression was one of pure, patient hunger.
"I want you to tell me exactly what you want, little one. Every detail. And I want you to beg for it."
He rolled his hips again, and you felt yourself crumbling.
"I want..." You swallowed hard, your face burning with humiliation. "I want you to make me come. Please. I need it. I need..."
His hand tightened on the leash, and the pressure against your throat intensified. Not enough to cut off your airโnot yetโbut enough to make you feel it. To make you know that you were his.
"I need..." Your voice came out in a gasp, the words tumbling out of you like water breaking through a dam. "I need you to keep moving. I need to feel you grinding against me. I need... I need to come so badly it hurtsโ"
"Mm." Jester's hips began to move again, slow and torturous, grinding against you with a rhythm that made your eyes roll back. "That's better. That's my good little pet."
His weight shifted, pressing down harder, and you could feel the pressure building againโthat desperate, aching need for releaseโ
"But I don't think you're quite there yet," he murmured, his voice almost conversational. "I think you need a little more... persuasion."
His hand tightened on the leash.
The pressure around your throat increased, just enough to restrict your airflow, and the sudden lack of oxygen made everything sharperโthe feeling of his hips grinding against you, the weight of his body pressing you down, the desperate ache in your core.
"That's it," he murmured, his voice sounding distant through the haze of sensation. "Feel that, little one? That's you losing control. That's you falling apart for me."
His hips ground against you harder, faster, and you could feel yourself spiraling toward the edgeโ
"Not yet," he said, his voice sharp, and he pulled back again.
The leash loosened, and you gasped for air, your body trembling with frustration and need.
"Please," you begged, the word torn from your throat. "Please, I can'tโI needโ"
"You can," Jester said, his voice patient but firm. "You will. But first, I want to hear you say exactly what I want to hear."
He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear.
"I want you to tell me whose pet you are." The humiliation alone burned through you, hot and shameful and achingly arousing.
"I'm... I'm yours," you whispered.
"Louder."
"I'm yours!" you said, your voice stronger this time.
"And what do my pets do?" His hips ground against you slowly, a reminder of what was waiting for you.
"They... they obey," you gasped. "They ask nicely for what they want."
"Good pet." Jester's voice was warm with approval, and the praise made something bloom in your chest. "Now tell me exactly what you want me to do to you."
Your face burned, but the words came anywayโspilling out of you like a confession.
"I want you to keep grinding against me. I want to feel you pressing me into the blanket. I want you to take me apart until I can't think straight. I wantโI need you to let me come. Please, please let me comeโ"
Jester's laugh was low and dark, vibrating through both of you. "There it is," he murmured.ย
"That's what I wanted to hear."
He began to move again, his hips grinding against yours with a rhythm that was faster now, harder, more demanding. The pressure in your core built almost immediately, the desperate need for release clawing at your insides.
"I want you to remember this moment, little one," he murmured, his voice dropping to something almost reverent. "I want you to remember the feeling of being crushed beneath me. The feeling of having no control. The feeling of giving yourself to me completely."
His hand tightened on the leash, and the pressure against your throat intensifiedโjust enough to make the edges of your vision go hazy, just enough to make every sensation feel like it was amplified a hundred times over.
The friction of his hips against yours was everythingโthe way his body moved against yours, the way he pressed you into the blanket, the way he controlled every aspect of this moment.
"You're mine," he murmured, the words a hot breath against your skin. "All of you. Every twitch, every gasp, every desperate little whimper. You belong to me."
His hips ground against yours, harder, faster, and you could feel yourself unravelingโ
"Don't come yet," he said, his voice sharp. "Not until I tell you to."
You felt yourself teetering on the edge, the pressure building to unbearable levelsโ
"Please," you gasped. "Please, I can'tโ"
"Yes you can," he said, his voice almost gentle. "You're stronger than you think, little one. Now tell me who you belong to."
"You," you gasped. "I belong to youโ"
"And what do you want?"
"I want to come," you begged, the words tumbling out of you in a desperate rush. "Please, please let me come, I need it so badly, I need you to let me come, pleaseโ"
Jester's grin was the last thing you saw before the world went white. โThen come for me, pet," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "Now."
The orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing through your body with a force that left you gasping. The Jester's hips kept moving against yours, grinding through the aftershocks, drawing out every last moment of pleasure until you were trembling beneath him.
"That's it," he murmured, his voice soft with satisfaction. "That's my good pet."
The pressure on your throat eased, the leash loosening as Jester's hand relaxed. You gasped for air, your body still shuddering with the aftershocks of release.
"Beautiful," he said, the word almost reverent. "Absolutely beautiful."
His weight shifted, and for a moment, you thought he was going to let you up. But instead, he simply repositioned himself, settling more comfortably on top of you, his body still pressing you into the blanket.
"But we're not done yet, little one," he murmured, his voice taking on a darkly amused edge. "I told you I was going to take you apart. One orgasm is just the beginning."
His hips began to move again, slow and deliberate, and you felt the heat building once more, forming that same desperate, aching need returning with a vengeance.
"Let's see how many times you can come for me before you're too exhausted to beg," he said, his lips brushing against your ear.ย
"I have all night, pet. And you're not going anywhere."
โย harlequin? โ her eyes narrowed, filled withย disbelieving.
โplaything.ย plaything. i need you to understand something. of all the monsters in this circus you picked the most annoying one, harlequin is the one who gets under myย stitchesย the most. โ she presses a stitched hand to her chest,ย dramatic.
โ and yet... somehow everyone wants... him in the TFC grotesque. everyone. because he's the freakiest one. the most unpredictable. the one who'll say the things no one else will say. do the things no one else will do. but here's the thing, plaything. โ
โ no one actually knows him. not really. however that isn't the place to ย share โ she sighs softy then waves a stitched hand. โ fine. fine i'll tell you. i'll help you.ย ย โ
โ just don't say i didn't warn youย โ
a = aftercare
now starting off, harlequin's aftercare is... unexpected.
you'd think, given his whole thing teasing, taunting, and that predatory energy he always give, you know that he'd be dismissive afterwards. that he'd roll over, crack a joke, and leave you to deal with the aftermath on your own.
which he in fact does, with all his otherโฆ well experiences.ย
but he doesn't with you. instead, he stays. he lingers around, close like a cat with his neon eyes track your face, watching for any sign of discomfort, any look of regret. think about the history heโs has been through.
he isnโt the type to forcely hurt or neglect you.
"you okay?" he'll ask, and his voice is softer than usual. not gentle because harlequin doesn't do gentle but he at least careful what he does. like he's testing the waters.
if you say yes, he'll grin, all sharp and knowing and say something like "good. because i'm not done with you yet." very much giving corny
if you say no, or if you flinch or pull away or shakeโhe'll go still. his tendrils will curl at his back, and his eyes will flicker just a bitโworried, maybe, or guilty.
"what do you need?" he'll ask. and he'll mean it.
he'll get you water. a blanket. space if you need it. and he'll stay, again not hovering, not smothering but present. close enough that you know he's there.
and you're lying there, catching your breath. harlequin is beside you, propped up on one elbow, his neon eyes fixed on your face.
"you're staring," you say.
"don't overthink it," he'll mutter, when you thank him. "i'm not nice. i justโ" he pauses. "โi don't want you to regret this."
he won't say why. but you'll know.
b = body part
his favorite body part of his own? his tendrils.
which that alone shouldโve been obvious, not because he's vainโwell, maybe a little vain but because they're useful. they can touch, grab, hold. they can wrap around your wrists, waist, and throat, just tight enough to remind you who's in charge.
"they're mine," he'll say, watching them curl around you. "and they like you." (he means he loves you. but he won't say it.)
his favorite body part of yours? your mouth.
not just for the obvious reasons though, yes, those too. but because you talk. maybe youโll challenge him. and he loves it.
you never shut up. always asking questions, always pushing back, always poking at him like you're not afraid of what he might do.
and that? that drives him crazy.
"you never shut up," he'll say, his thumb brushing your lower lip, his neon eyes fixed on your mouth like he's studying it. "always asking questions. always pushing."
you open your mouth to respond and he presses his thumb against your tongue. just enough to silence you.
"keep going," he murmurs, his voice low and hungry. "say anything. i want to hear your voice." he leans closer, his breath warm against your lips.
"especially when you're begging."
he loves the way you talk back. loves the way you challenge him like you're not afraid of the monster he pretends to be. "you're so brave," he'll purr, his tendrils curling around your wrists. "i love it. i hate it. i want to ruin you for it."
and he will.
he'll kiss you until you can't breathe. until your legs give out. until you're clinging to him like he's the only thing keeping you upright. and then he'll pull back, just enough to look at you and he'll grin. "there it is," he'll say. "that look. the one that says you want more."
he'll give you more. but he'll make you ask for it.
because your mouth? your voice? it's his favorite thing about you.
and he'll never get tired of hearing it.
c = cum
harlequin is messy. carefully messy?
he doesn't care about containment or controlโnot the way ticket taker does. he wants to see it. wants to watch it pool on your stomach, your thighs, your tongue.
"look at that," he'll purr, his neon eyes tracking every drop. "you're covered in me." and he'll leave it there. for a while, anyway. he likes the visual proof.
"don't clean up yet," he'll say, when you reach for a towel. "i want to look at you."
he'll trace patterns in it with his fingers, just all lazy, possessive and he'll grin.
like you could be on your on your knees in front of him. his hand is tangled in your hair, his hips twitching, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. when he finishes, it's everywhereโyour lips, your chin, your throat. "perfect," he breathes as he reaches down and drags his thumb through it. brings it to your lips.
"open." you do. and he watches you swallow.
"good," he murmurs. "such a good little thing~โ
d = dirty secret
hmโฆ letโs say harlequin's dirty secret is that he needs you to stay.
not in the desperate, clinging way pierrot does but in a quieter and deeper way. after all, he's spent so long being the predator. the one who taunts, who teases, who pushes people away before they can leave himโthat he doesn't know how to ask for what he wants.
so he hides it. behind the grin. behind the jokes. behind the sharp, knowing comments that make you want to strangle him.
but when you're not lookingโwhen you're asleep, or distracted, or goneโhe lets the mask slip. "don't leave," he'll whisper, when he thinks you can't hear. "please. i โ"
he never finishes the sentence.
because harlequin doesn't do vulnerability.
but he feels it. every day. like you could be asleep in his bed. he's propped up on one elbow, watching youโneon green eyes soft, tendrils curled around your waist. "i don't know how to do this," he murmurs. "i don't know how toโ"
he stops then swallows, "just... stay. please."
he'll never say it when you're awake.
e = experience
as well all know, harlequin is experienced. very experienced.
he's been around. a lot. so he knows what he's doingโknows how to touch, how to tease, how to make you fall apart before he's even inside you.ย
"i've had practice," he'll say, with that sharp grin. "lots of practice~โ but here's the thingโexperience doesn't mean intimacy. he's good at sex. he knows the mechanics. the technique. but being close to someone? being vulnerable?
that's new and he's terrified of it.
thatโs why heโs definitely a type of run away from aftercare or like just run straight out of the door, he's more into tune with one night stand than anything.
so he hides behind the experience. the performance. the sharp, knowing comments that make you forget he's just as scared as you are.ย
like his hands are on your hips, his mouth on your neckโhiding his face, his body pressed against yours. he knows exactly what he's doing. "don't overthink it," he'll say, when you ask. "just feel it."ย
plaything, he's talking to himself as much as he's talking to you.
f = favorite position
harlequin's all-time favorite position is face-off.
not because he's lazy but because he likes the control. the view. the way he can watch you fall apart right in front of him.
you sit on a chair, a couch, or the edge of the bed โ and then you climb into his lap, facing him. his legs are wider, allowing you to straddle him, to sink onto him at your own pace.
and that? that is what he loves most.
"you set the pace," he'll purr, his hands finding your hips, his neon eyes fixed on your face. "you decide how deep. how fast. how much."
he loves watching you take control. loves the way your breath catches when you sink down onto him. loves the way your eyes flutter closed when you find the right angle.
"look at me," he'll command, his grip tightening. "i want to see your face." because face-off keeps everyone's hands free, so free to wander, to explore, to touch every inch of each other.
and harlequin? harlequin loves touching you.
his hands roam your back, your thighs, your throat. his tendrils curl around your waist, wrists, and hipsโ guiding you, encouraging you. "faster," he'll murmur, when you find a rhythm. "or slower. whatever you want."
"you're so weak like this," he'll breathe, his neon eyes tracking every flutter of your lashes, every parted-lip gasp, every moment of your unraveling. "you're taking what you want. using me." his voice drops to a low growl. "keep going."
he loves the intimacy of it, the way you're close, chest to chest, face to face. he can feel your heartbeat. can taste your breath. can see the exact moment you break.
"there," he'll purr, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "i can see it. you're close." he won't let you look away. won't let you hide. "look at me," he'll command, his voice low and hungry.ย then he leans forward, his lips brushing your ear.
"keep going, plaything. i want to watch you fall."
g = goofy
harlequin pretends he's never goofy.
he puts on this whole performance, all sharp, sarcastic, mean in a way that makes you want to strangle him. he wants you to think he's all edge and hunger and predatory energy.
but here's the thing, plaything.
he's a damn troll. an absolute menace.
he loves getting a rise out of you. loves pushing your buttons just to see what happens. loves making you flustered and annoyed and so ready to murder him.
"you're so easy," he'll say, grinning that sharp, knowing grin. "i barely have to try."
and he doesn't. because being goofy or just being stright up annoying, all this comes naturally to him.
he'll do things like: make inappropriate noises at the worst possible moments especially during intimacyโjust to see you break and it makes things less awkward.
like tell the worst puns you've ever heard. "what do you call a monster who's always late? a harle-quin." (he laughs at his own joke. you do not as heโs literally quite inside you, just denying your pleasure) and donโt let it be a a noise. a cramp. the way your stomach growls at an inopportune moment.
and he'll pause. tilt his head. his neon eyes will flicker up, all amused. "...did you just โ"
"shut up."
he laughs, all surprised and genuine. "you're adorable," he says. "i'm going to ruin you." and he will. but he'll also hold you afterwards. because harlequin is soft. under all that trolling. he cares.
he just doesn't want you to know it.
h = hair
harlequin is well-groomed. obviously.
he's a performer. everything about him is a performance, the grin, the energy, the damn chaos. and a performer? a performer has to look good. you can't see him just letting it grow wild and unkempt. that's not his style. he's giving diva energyโthough, admittedly, jester clearly takes first place in that category.
but harlequin? he's a close second.
his white-grey-scaled body is smooth and short black hair. "it's part of the aesthetic," he'll say, running a hand through it with practiced ease.ย like he has a routine, products, even tools.ย
he spends hours on it. he'll never admit it.
i = intimacy
harlequin doesn't do romance. again, not the way pierrot does withย all tears and desperate clinging.
harlequin's intimacy is sharp, unexpected and dangerous in the best way. he shows he cares by staying. by listening even when he pretends not to. by remembering the small random things such as your favorite food, your least favorite color, the way you breathe when you're about to cry.
"you always do that," he'll say, mid-act. "when you're close. you hold your breath."
"i do notโ" "you do." he'll prove it. and you'll hate how right he is.ย
(and you'll love him for noticing.)
j = jack off
harlequin jacks off frequently.
he has a high sex drive, like very high and he's not shy about it. he'll do it whenever the mood strikes: in his tent, in the shower, in the middle of the day when he's supposed to be working.
"don't judge me," he'll say, when you catch him. "i have needs."
he thinks about you when he does it. almost always. the way you sound. the way you feel. the way you look at him like he's not a monster.
"fuck," he'll gasp, his hand moving faster. "i can'tโi can'tโ" his green fork tounge sticking out of his mouth. and then it's over. and he's breathless.
and he's thinking about you again.
god forbid, when you push open his tent flap, all unannounced, because you never speak up about coming in and there he is.
harlequin, sprawled across his bed, his hand wrapped around cock, his neon eyes wide with surprise. his tendrils are curled at his back, his chest is heaving, and he's so close.
"harlequinโ"
"don't." his voice is strained. desperate. "donโtโstop โ"ย
you don't stop. you watch. your eyes trace the way his hand moves, the way his hips twitch, the way his breath catches.
he finishes with a groan. his tendrils curl. his body shudders.
and then he's just... lying there. breathless. staring at you. he gives a weak laugh, breathless sound and reaches for you.
"come here," he says, his voice low. "you watch me. you see me like that. and now you think you can just leave?"
his tendrils curl around your wrist, pulling you closer.
"no," he murmurs, his neon eyes hungry. "now you take care of me, plaything." he guides your hand to his still-sensitive length, and his breath catches.ย
"slow now,โ he breathes. โiโmโiโm still sensitive."
k = kink
holy shit, where to even start because harlequin has a lot of kinks. very much long list, almost every kink that existed is on that list, so let's just list the top favorites.
1. praise.ย
he loves being told he's doing well. "good," you'll murmur, and his hips will stutter. "you're doing so well." his neon eyes will go wide, and he'll come undone.
2. degradation.ย
he loves being used. "you're mine," you'll say, and he'll whimper. "my toy. my plaything." he'll nodโdesperate, needy.
3. overstimulation.ย
he'll push you past your limits, then past them again, just to see how you react. "one more," he'll say, his voice low. "you can give me one more."
4. marking.ย
he loves leaving marks on you โ bites, bruises, scratches. "i want everyone to see," he'll growl, his teeth grazing your shoulder. "i want them to know you're mine."
5. being watched.ย
againhe's a performer. he loves an audience. "watch me," he'll command, his hand moving faster. "don't look away."
6. power play.ย
he loves the exchange, sometimes he's in control, sometimes he's not. "i'm in charge," he'll growl. (and then: "please, i needโ")
l = location
harlequin's favorite location is anywhere in the circus.
because the circus is his domain. his territory. every tent, every corner, every shadow belongs to him. and he wants you in all of it.
As disrespectful as it sounds because it is; harlequin is everywhere and he wants you everywhere with him.
"the circus is my home,โ he'll say, his neon eyes gleaming. "and that means you're mine. wherever i want you." and he means it.
1. his tent
this is his primary spot. his bed is huge, big enough for both of you to sprawl across, to tangle together, to lose yourselves in. his tendrils are everywhere, so curling around your body, holding you close.
"this is my space," he'll murmur, pressing you into the mattress. "my territory. and you're in it."
he loves the privacy. the freedom. he can be as loud as he wants, as messy as he wants, as intense as he wants. no one bothers him here. no one interrupts.
"scream," he'll command, his voice low. "i want to hear you."
and you will. because no one's listening.
2. the rafters
this one is adventurous. risky. entirely harlequin.
he'll lead you up, like the way into the rafters above the main tent. the beams are wide enough to hold you, the shadows are deep enough to hide you, and the view? spectacular.
"no one looks up," he'll whisper, his voice low. "no one sees us."
he'll press you against the beam, his tendrils wrapped around you, his hips moving in a slow, teasing rhythm. and below the circus continues. guests laugh. music plays. no one knows.
"you're so quiet," he'll murmur, his lips brushing your ear. "try to stay that way."
3. the ticket booth
this one is impulsive. spontaneous. and so so wrong.
the circus is closed. the gates are locked. the ticket booth is empty and ticket taker went to lock up for the night.ย
thatโs enough time for harlequin, he'll push you insideโshove you, really and lock the door behind him.
"five minutes," he'll say, his voice low. "that's all i need." and he means it. but he'll also take ten. or fifteen. because he can't help himself.
"you're so hard to resist," he'll say, his hips moving fast. "i can't stop."
4. the alley between tents
this one is quick. desperate. risky in the best way.
he'll pull you aside between the red tent and the purple, in the narrow space where the shadows are deepest and he'll press you against the fabric. "quiet," he'll breathe, his hand over your mouth. "don't make a sound."
his hips will move fast, urgent and you'll clutch at him, your fingers digging into his shoulders. "harlequinโ"
"shh." he'll finish with a groan, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged.
"fuck," he'll gasp. "you're perfect."
and then he'll pull away, grinning and act like nothing happened.
5. your apartment
Of course, always your apartment is an option special. itโs more sentimental in a way he'll never admit.
he'll show up at your door, unannounced, uninvitedand he'll push his way inside. "i missed you today,โ he'll say, his voice low. "don't make it weird." he'll kiss you and he'll take you on your couch, your bed, your kitchen counter.
"this is yours," he'll murmur, his lips brushing your ear. "and you're mine."
m = motivation
harlequin is motivated by attention.
he needs to be seen. needs to be noticed. needs to know that he's the one you're thinking about. "look at me," he'll command, his voice low. "don't look at anyone else. just me."
he's also motivated by challenge. if you push back.ย talk back he'll be obsessed.
"you're so difficult," he'll say, grinning. "i love it." and trust. when you trust himโwhen you let him see you, really see youโhe'll do anything. "you're not afraid of me," he'll observe, his neon eyes soft. "why?"
"because i trust you."
his eyes flicker and his tendrils curl. "...dangerous." but he loves it.
n = no
harlequin has hard limits. things he will not do.
1. being ignored.
he needs attention. all of it. if you zone out โ if you look away โ he'll stop. "look at me," he'll command, his voice sharp. "i need to see your eyes."
2. loss of control (with anyone else).
he'll give up control to you. but only you. if anyone else tries โ jester, ticket taker, anyone โ he'll shut down.
3. being called "sir" or "master".
it's not his thing. "just my name," he'll say. "that's all i need."
4. silence.
he hates silence. "say something," he'll beg. "anything. i need to hear your voice."
o = oral
harlequin is very skilled at giving oral.
he loves it. loves the way you react. the way your breath catches. the way you fall apart.
"you're so responsive tody,โ he'll murmur, his tongue tracing a line up your thigh. "i love it. i love it."
he'll take his time. study you. figure out exactly what makes you gasp, what makes you beg, what makes you shatter.
"there," he'll say, his voice low. "that's the spot."
receiving? he loves it. but he won't ask for it. won't beg. he'll just position himself in front of you, his hand tangled in your hair, and wait.
"you know what i want," he'll say. "don't make me say it."
and you won't. because you do know.
p = pace
harlequin's pace is unpredictable. deliberately so.
he'll start slow, just all teasing building a pace that's lazy and deliberate. he wants to draw it out. wants to feel every moment.
"patience," he'll murmur, when you try to rush him. "we have time."
but then when he's close, his pace changes. faster. harder. more desperate. "justโ" he'll gasp, his hips stuttering. "just stayโ" and then he's cums.ย
and you're left breathless beneath him.
q = quickie
harlequin LOVES quickies.
he's always ready. always hungry and down for one at any time. and if there's a spare moment, he'll take it. "five minutes," he'll say, pushing you against the nearest surface. "that's all i need."
and he means it. but he'll also take ten. or fifteen. because he can't help himself. "you're so hard to resist," he'll say, his voice low. "i can't stop."
like the both you are in the ticket boothโaccidentally letโs pray that ticket taker doesnโt catch you two and he's got you pressed against the wall, his hand over your mouth, his hips moving fast.
"quiet," he breathes. "don't make a sound."
you don't. but you want to.
r = risk
harlequin ALSO LOVES taking risks
again HEโs a performer. a thrill-seeker. the danger, the possibility of being caughtโit makes him feral. "what's life without a little risk?" he'll say, his neon eyes gleaming. "boring. that's what."
he'll take you in places where you could be caughtโthe ticket booth, the supply closet, the middle of the circus grounds when everyone else is asleep. there's honestly no fucks given.
"quiet," he'll whisper, his hand over your mouth, his hips pressing against yours. "if you make a sound โ"
he grins. "โi'll just have to make you."
and he will. he'll push you past every limit, dare you to break, challenge you to stay quiet. "you're trembling," he'll observe, his voice low. "good. i love it."
he'll experiment with everythingโnew positions, new places, new kinks. he's always looking for the next thrill. "what if we โ" he'll start, and you'll know it's going to be wild.
"whatever you want," you'll say.
and he'll grin. "that's what i like to hear."
s = stamina
harlequin has insane stamina.
he can go for hours. literally hours. he's relentlessโ always pushing, always wanting more. "one more," he'll say, his voice low. "you can give me one more."
and you can. because he won't let you stop.
he can go for four rounds. five. sixโif you're lucky because just for you to know, these rounds are very long about 2 to 3 hours, so all day activity!
"i'm not done with you," he'll growl, his tendrils wrapping around your waist, pulling you back to him.
he means it.
t = toys
hmmโฆ harlequin doesn't need toys.
funny enough, he's creative enough on his own. he uses his hands, his tendrils, his mouth, so anything he can reach.
"why use toys," he'll say, his voice low, "when i can use you?" his tendrils are his favorite tool. they're everywhere, wrapping around your wrists, ankles, and throat. they can hold you down, lift you up, spread you open.
"you're so beautiful like this," he'll say, his voice low, his tendrils curling around your thighs. "all mine."
he'll tie you up with them, just tight enough that you can't move, loose enough that you can feel them sliding against your skin.ย
he'll blindfold you with his hands, his tendrils exploring every inch of you while you squirm.
"where are you touching me?" he'll purr, his voice low and teasing. "you don't know, do you? that's the point." he'll tease you until you're begging until you're sobbing his name.
"please," you'll gasp. "please, harlequinโ"
"please what?"
"pleaseโtouch meโ"
he'll grin, triumphant. "that's what i wanted to hear."
but sometimes when he's feeling extra, he'll use your things. he loves your blindfold. the one you use when you sleep. the one he steals from your bag when you're not looking.ย
"this is mine now," he'll say, holding it up with a grin.ย
then he'll tie it around your face, tight enough that you can't see anything. just darkness and the sound of his voice. "you're so trusting," he'll murmur, his voice low. "i love it."
he'll even use your clothes, so a shirt, a tie, even your underwear to bind you, to gag you, to blind you.
"you're so creative," you'll say, breathless.
"i know," he'll say. "that's why you love me."
u = unfair
harlequin is masterful at teasing.
it's his favorite thing. bringing you right to the edge and then stopping. "not yet," he'll say, his voice low. "you're not ready." and he'll keep you there. for hours. watching you squirm. needing.
"please," you'll beg. "please, i needโ"
"i know," he'll say. "that's the point." he'll edge you until you're crying. until you're sobbing his name. "you're so pretty like this," he'll say, his voice low.ย
"all desperate for me."
v = volume
harlequin is loud. obnoxiously loud.
he wants you to hear him. wants everyone to hear him.
"yes," he'll groan, his voice echoing off the tent walls. "just like thatโdon't stopโ" he'll moan. whimper. growl. he's not shy about it. "fuck," he'll gasp, his hips stuttering. "i canโtโfuckโ"
and he doesn't hold back. ever.
"you love the way i sound," he'll say, his voice low. "don't you?"
you do. because harlequin is auditory. and he knows it.
w = wild card
harlequin has a thing for your voice.
not just what you say, more how you say it. the pitch. the rhythm. the way you breathe when you're close.
"say my name," he'll command, his voice low. "i want to hear you say it."
and when you doโwhen you moan it, when you gasp it, when you whisper it like a prayerโhe comes undone.
"again," he'll breathe. "say it again."
he'll record it, sometimes. on his phone. just to listen to it later. "don't judge me," he'll say, when you catch him. "i have needs."
(he's lying. he loves it. he'll never admit it.)
x = x-ray
harlequin is lean. wiry. made for movement.
his body movement is close like a snake, under his clothes, he's all muscleโlong, corded muscle that flexes when he moves. his whiteย grey-scaled skin is smooth, flawless, markless.
except for the scars. majority of them are stab wounds from pierrot and he has a few pale, faint lines that cross his ribs, his hips, his thighs. "don't ask," he'll say, when you trace them. "it's not a story i want to tell."
(he'll tell you. eventually. when he trusts you enough.)
heโs cold-blooded or ectothermic being cold-blooded, so he take in heat. Unlike mumans or the other monsters on the other hand would be classified as endothermic. so he loves being near you, taking all the heat inside
and down there? impressive. proportional. elegant in a way that shouldn't be elegant. he's pale down there, greyish and his length curves slightly, always having pre-cum leaking from the tip.
"like what you see?" he'll ask, grinning. "are you going to look or touch?"
y = yearning
fharlequin's sex drive is very high.
extremely high. insatiably high. he thinks about it constantlyโabout you constantly. the way you sound and feel. Like all he wants secretly it's just retention of course he's not gonna voice that out loud but he's going to use every chance just to get your own attention.
"you're distracting," he'll say, his voice low. "i can't think. i can't focus. all i can do isโ" he'll push you against the nearest surface. his mouth on your neck. his hands on your hips. "โthis."
he's always ready. always hungry.
"again," he'll say, after rounds. "i need more."
z = zone
harlequin is sensitive. more than he lets on.
his body is a map of places that make him shiver, and he's spent years pretending they don't exist. ignoring them. suppressing them.
but with you? with you? he can't hide.
there are three areas that are especially sensitive, places that make him break if you touch them just right. and if you pay attention, if you watch him closelyโit's very easy to tell.
1. his tendrils
harlequin's tendrils are incredibly sensitiveโachingly so. they're extensions of himโnerves and muscle and want. they're not just appendages; they're part of him. intimately part of him.
when you touch themโwhen you stroke them, when you pull them, when you wrap them around your fingersโhis breath catches.
"again," he breathes. "do that again." and when you do when you bite one, just lightly, he falls apart.
"fuck," he gasps. "fuck, i can'tโ"
he can. and he will. the tendrils twitch at your touch. they curl around your fingers, your wrists, your throatโnot to restrain you, but to feel you. "you're torturing me," he says, his voice strained.
"is it working?"
his neon eyes are wide. his chest is heaving. his tendrils are writhing. "yes."
he'll beg you to touch them. to stroke them, to pull them, to bite them. he'll whimper when you do.
"please," he'll gasp. "please, i need โ"
he'll come undone. completely.
because his tendrils are part of him. and when you touch them, so when you really touch themโyou're touching him.
2. his throat
harlequin's throat is achingly sensitive. the column of it, long and pale, where his pulse beats just beneath the surface.
he loves having it touched. loves the feeling of your lips against his skin, your teeth grazing his jugular.
when you kiss him there, when you drag your lips down the side of his neck, when you bite just hard enough to leave a mark, his breath catches. his hands tighten on your hips. his neon eyes flutter closed.
"again," he breathes. "do that again."
and when you do, so when you suck a bruise into the space just below his jawโhe makes a sound. all quiet strangled. desperate. "fuck," he murmurs, his voice shaking. "i didn't know i couldโ"
he doesn't finish the sentence. he's too busy pulling you closer. he loves it when you bite him. hard enough to leave marks. hard enough that he can feel it for days.
"i want everyone to see," he'll growl, his voice low. "i want them to know you're mine." he'll press your mouth against his throatโguiding you, encouraging you.
"harder," he'll command. "bite me."
and you will. because he asked.
3. his hair
this one is cruel. and you know it. harlequin's hair is wild. messy. unintentional. (like he can never get rid of that heart curl) but underneath all that chaos underneath the carefully styled mess his scalp is incredibly sensitive.ย
when you run your fingers through his hair, when you scratch his scalp, when you pull just hard enough, he melts. "fuck," he'll gasp, his head falling back. "fuck, that's โ"
he shivers. actually shivers. "don't stop," he'll beg. "pleaseโdon't stopโ" he'll lean into your touch. push against your hand like a cat starved for affection. and when you pull his hair, so hard enough that his head snaps back, his eyes roll.
"yes," he'll gasp. "yesโfuckโ" he loves it. craves it.
and he'll never admit it.
"you're so easy," you'll say.
"shut up." but he won't pull away.
regardless, in summarized about harlequin's!
so there you have it, plaything. harlequin. the one whoย neverย shuts up. he'sย annoying.ย infuriating. he gets under myย stitchesย like no one else in this circus.
โ iย hateย him, โ poppet says, her voice flat, little annoyed. โ he'sย insufferable. โ a pause. โ ...but he's alsoย hot. โ sheย looks away, her lavender eyes flickering.
โ not that i'dย everย tell him that. โ she's about to say something elseโ somethingย sharp, maybeย dismissiveโwhen the tent flapย rustles.
andย thereย he is.
harlequin leaning against the entrance, his neon eyes greenย gleaming, his sharp grinย alreadyย in place. "talking about me, poppet?" he purrs. "i'mย flattered."
sheย freezes. her eye goย wide. โ i wasย notโ โ
"youย were." he steps closer, his tendrilsย curlingย at his back. "i couldย hearย you from outside. something about me beingย hot?"
heย laughs, low andย warmย and reaches out toย flickย one of her pigtails. "sure, poppet." his neon eyes areย soft. "sure." heย doesn'tย push further. justย grinsย at her, all sharp,ย knowingย andย slipsย back out of the tent.
sheย staresย at the flap for aย longย moment.
good luck putting up with him. you'll gonna need it...
HIIII UR WORK IS AMAZING!!! Just thought Iโd mention that Toby has a condition called congenial insensitivity to pain, meaning he physically cannot feel pain
deadass, okay so once i saw this in my inbox i literally and QUICKY went back to the damn [ ๐๐ฝ๐ ๐๐พ๐๐ ๐ ๐ถ๐ ๐๐๐ ] and fixed it immediately. even changed a kink too because i knew i was forgetting something and this was it.
as someone planning on getting their masters in psychology and eventually becoming a psychiatrist... this is so embarrassing that i forgot about this condition ๐ญ holy shit nooo. like that's literally in my field of study and i just??? blanked???
all i recall that he suffers from Tourette's syndrome and an unspecified neurological disorder, BUT I COULDN'T FIGURE THE DAMN disorder.
still thank you for catching that and letting me know. genuinely. i'd rather fix it than leave it wrong. appreciate you looking out.
Not a request, I just wanted to say I really like your writing! :)
aww, thank you so much! ๐ค
sometimes it's the little notes like this that hit the hardest. fun factโi actually keep a few of them saved to look back on whenever i'm having a rough day or staring at a blank doc with writer's block. they help more than people realize.
i try to reply to as many as i can because i don't want anyone thinking i'm ignoring them! but truthfully, i'm not very parasocial. the internet is a scary place, lmaooo, kidding. let me stop before i get too deep ๐ญ
but fr, sometimes i do get overwhelmed by the amount of positive feedback and requests that i just... gotta step away from the inbox for a few days. it's a lot, like hella. good a lot, but still a fucking a lot.
regardless, i appreciate you taking the time to say something. it means more than you know.
hope you're having a good day/night and that you find something else to enjoy out there too ๐
omg thanks to your tkatb fics i have bought the nsfw one and first time playing it yesterday LMAO ๐ญ damn it pretty emo boy got me that fast
LMFAOOO omg WAIT you bought the game because of my fics?? please deadass idk how to feel about ๐ญ๐
keep forgetting about a year and some few months ago, i was writing hella tkatb fics, fuel the entire fandom accidentally, to this day i'm still in shock that the fandom is still alive from Fantasia hiatus.
well shit, welcome to the circus bestie. you're one of them now. there's no escape.
and YEAH. fucking sol that pretty art emo boy really does got you that fast, huh?? he's got that energy. you blink and suddenly you're invested and questioning your life choices.
so how are you liking it so far?? forgive me it's be a long time since i played that game, so I don't entirely remember l(ow-key if I open the game back up all the memories would flow back of my brain lol)
also the fact that you went straight for the nsfw version?? no hesitation?? respect. because i did the same shit too, tkatb was my first VN so i didn't know what i was getting into. still you knew what you wanted and you went for it.
enjoy the silly madness. and if you need to yell about it, my inbox is always open ๐ค
hiii!! im sorry to intrude on your ask box I just wanted to express in a long rant how amazing your writing is and how you've also inspired me to write my own stories!! i've read and wrote fanfictions for so long but *never* have i seen it done like you,, like the humor and personality that you put into each of your stories is so admirable and inspiring, i love all the strikethrough text/jokes in your stories, the fourth wall breaking, and just all of you writing is so perfect! you have such an amazing grasp on every character you write for, I hope it's okay to mention tfc (i just know you said lately all your asks are for tfc and you are definitely so much more than that), but truly I learned so much about the characters from your writing rather than the wiki or amas etc.,,, like I read through those all later (and tried creating some character notes kind of like you suggested in a previous ask! thank you for all your wonderful ideas) but truly your blog is like an archive/wiki of it's own. your character studies and just how you write every character is so detailed and it helped me learn so much about them! I just wanted to say thank you so much for the impact you've had on my life and getting my back into writing because I was so uninspired and unmotivated until I found your blog! please take care of yourself and you are soo wonderful I'm so lucky and greatful to even have the chance to say all this to someone as amazing as you ๐ฉท
okay, holy shit. wow!! okay first of all you are NOT intruding this is literally the sweetest thing ever ๐ซ ๐ค
"never have i seen it done like you" STOP i'm actually gonna cry?? like that's such a huge compliment i don't even know what to do with myself. the fact that you noticed the humor and personality and strikethrough text and fourth wall breaking??
that's literally the stuff i worry no one picks up on so hearing that you see it and APPRECIATE it??
and listenโmentioning TFC is totally fine!! i know i've been getting a lot of asks for it lately (deadass lowkey taking a mini break from it rn) and i'm trying to branch out but i still love the vn and characters with my whole heart.
the fact that you learned more about them from my writing than from the wiki or amas?? that's genuinely the highest compliment you could ever give me!! i put so much time into those character studies and notes and just... sitting with them in my head trying to understand them and write good enough for others to understand.
and you made your own character notes?? based on my suggestion?? i'm so proud of you omg that's literally what i love to see. that's how you grow as a writer and deadass have no sleep (please don't be like me, it's only once of while on missing lil sleep).
"your blog is like an archive/wiki of its own" which omfg, i'm framing this and putting it on my wall actually. that's so unbelievably kind.
thank YOU for taking the time to say all of this. it's not every day someone tells you that you helped them find their way back to writing. that's genuinely the reason i do this. to inspire. to help people feel less alone. to make someone pick up a pen (or open a notes app) and start creating again.
please take care of yourself too. stay wonderful ๐ค
Have you played the false sun? Yes it is another yandere visual novel
truth be told? i haven't played it ๐ญ
i've definitely seen it come across my fyp and i've heard people raving about itโespecially because silas is apparently like... the perfect definition of a yandere? like actually accurate, not just "he's obsessed" butย actuallyย unhinged in the way that makes you go "oh this is genuinely concerning." i believe the creator is russian and they just recently translated the english dub for everyone to play, which is really cool.
and yeah. silas is cute lol. i'll give him that.
now will i ever play it and possibly? maybe?? it's like HARD maybe.
the plot is good, the setting is perfect, the vn itself is good, i'm just... not in a rush to play it when i'm still playing through other visual novels.
here's the thingโi put SO much time and dedication into research for the VNs i write for. like. hours. days. i'm replaying routes, taking notes, analyzing dialogue, making sure i don't miss any details. and if i start playing the false sun? Especially those mini games / puzzles that I heard about i'm gonna end up doing a ton of research on it too because that's just how my brain works.
and no, i refuse to have a step-by-step guide to get various endings that cheating and i won't enjoy the vn. and i already have so many VNs i'm juggling right now ๐ญ
so maybe one day. when i have the time. when i'm caught up on everything else. maybe then i'll finally give silas a chance.
แญเฝฒเผแฏเพ โโ Ink spun from my own fingertipsโplease donโt take, mirror, or rewrite it.
โ ๐ป๐๐ถ๐๐๐๐พ๐๐: slender man, tim, brian, toby and kate. (๐๐ธ: 8.5k)
โ ๐๐ถ๐๐: hc/s ยท mr / proxies ยท smut ยท established relationships ยท intimacy ยท all types of kinks ยท character study ยท bdsm dynamics ยท kink exploration ยท vague descriptions of genitalia.
โ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐พ๐: Consider this your official, highly classified, definitely-not-approved-by-slenderman guide to what makes the proxies (and their boss) tick more inย thatย way. a paper bullet point list of their deepest, darkest, most delicious desires.
Because everyone knows the scariest thing about them isn't the masks, the static, or the 9-foot void in a suit. it's what they want to do to you when no one's watching.
Consider this your warning. (and your invitation!)
โ ๐๐๐๐๐น๐๐ ๐๐ถ๐
starting off the wonderful man himselfโwell if he could be called a man? slender man! or slendy! now thinking about like no one HARDLY writes him nowdays. does no one wants this sexy tall creepy thing?
no? just me...? uh anyway! slender man's kinks are rooted in worship. he has existed for centuries as a warden, a silent force of nature, forcing his proxies to do all types of work. but with you, he is something else entirely, like something that kneels and craves. something that would tear the world apart just to keep you warm.
worship kink. he worships you. not in a performative way, more in a fundamental way. you are the center of his existence. the reason he manifests. the only thing that makes him feel something other than cold calculation.
on his knees before you, 9 feet of this... eldritch horror! folded down to your level, blank face tilted up toward you
his handsโthose long, bony, terrifying white ass handsโcupping your face like you're made of glass
lips that don't exist pressing against your skin in approximations of kisses, his whole body trembling with the effort of restraint
"you are my purpose," he projects into your mind. "my reason for remaining."
the way he watches you sleep, utterly still, utterly devoted, like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen
tendril play. his tendrils are fully prehensile, hypersensitive, capable of the gentlest touch or the firmest grip. they're extensions of himโevery one of them can feel, taste, sense. fun fact! his tendrils are slimy enough to work as natural lub!
tendrils sliding up your thighs, under your clothes, curling around your waist, your ribs, your throat
multiple points of contact at once, so your wrists bound, your ankles held, your hips pinned, all by him, all at once
the texture of them against your skin, meaing smooth, cool, slick with that natural lubricant
him using them to explore you, learn you, memorize every inch of you
"you are so soft," he projects. "so warm. i could feel you forever."
orgasm control. he can read your body perfectly, such as your heart rate, breathing, the tension in your muscles. he knows exactly when you're close. and he decides when you're allowed to fall.
his tendrils wrapped around you, stilling your hips, holding you right on the edge
"not yet," he projects. "you will wait for me."
the way he freezes you in place with his psychic hold, your body trembling, desperate, completely at his mercy
"now," he says. and you shatter.
after, he holds you through it, whispering in your mindโ"so beautiful. so perfect when you let go."
high yield praise kink. now why is it high yield? because he deadass talks so damn proper and his praise is rare, which makes it precious. when he speaks, you listen. when he praises, you feel it.
"you are exquisite," he projects. "i have existed for centuries. i have never encountered anything like you."
his thumb brushing your cheek, tilting your face up to his blank voidโ"you are mine. and i am yours."
the way his voice (in your mind) drops lower, rougher, when you please himโ"so good for me. so perfect."
you doing something small, so maybe cleaning, reading, existing and him watching you with that unreadable stillness that somehow feels like adoration
"you are the only warmth i have ever known," he whispers. "you are my sun."
hypersensitivity + overstimulation. he can feel through every inch of his tendrils. every point of contact is sensory input. he can surround you, fill you, overwhelm you, and feel everything.
his tendrils all over youโyour thighs, stomach, chest, neckโevery point of contact sending sensation through you
him adding more, one by one, until you're surrounded, overwhelmed, completely his
"i can feel you from everywhere," he projects. "every flutter. every pulse. every time you clench around me."
the way he keeps going, keeps adding, keeps pushing you past your limitโ"one more. you can give me one more."
after, when you're shaking and breathless, his tendrils still wrapped around you like a cocoon
sensory deprivation. he can surround you with silence, darkness, stillness. can strip away your senses one by one until all that's left is touch. his touch.
a blindfold of black silk, his hands guiding you, his tendrils holding you in place
the world gone silent, so no sound, light, just him against your skin
you unable to see, unable to hear, unable to move and him everywhere, all at once
"focus," he projects. "feel only me."
the way he rebuilds you after, sensation by sensation, until you're gasping and desperate
possession/ownership. you are his. this is not negotiable. he does not share. he does not compete. he simply... claims.
his tendrils wrapped around your waist, pulling you against himโ"mine."
the way he marks youโnot with bruises, but with presence. his scent on your skin, his name in your mind, his devotion in your bones
you saying "i'm yours," and the way his stillness deepens, like he's finally complete
"say it again," he projects. "tell me you are mine."
the way he eliminates anyone who threatens you, anyone who touches you, anyone who looks at you wrongโwithout hesitation, without guilt. because you are his. and no one touches what is his.
breathplay / choking. he is always, always aware of your pulse. your breath. the rise and fall of your chest. and sometimesโwhen you ask, when you needโhe holds you right at the edge.
his long, pale fingers wrapping around your throat, cold against your skin, feeling your pulse flutter under his thumb
his tendrils curling around your neck, smooth and cool, tightening just enough to make your vision swim
you gasping, trying to breathe, and him loosening just as you start to panicโ"not yet. i would never. but you look so beautiful like this."
the way he watches your face, reading every micro-expression, adjusting pressure to keep you right on that perfect edge
you coming undone, breathless and desperate, and him whispering in your mindโ"so perfect. so trusting. i will always catch you."
his thumb pressing gently against your windpipe, not to harmโto feel. to remind you who controls your pleasure. who protects you. who owns you.
double penetration (cock + tendrils). he can fill you in ways no human ever could. his tendrils are extensions of him, every one of them capable of sensation, movement, pleasure. and he wants you full. completely. utterly.
one tendril inside you, then another, stretching you carefully, and another and him feeling every gasp and flutter
his cock pressing against your entrance while his tendrils hold you open, ready, waiting
you on your hands and knees, one tendril in your cunt, one in your ass, his cock sliding between them. you full, so damn full, verych much completely his
"i can fill every part of you," he projects. "every hole. every thought. every breath."
the way his tendrils move independentlyโone thrusting, one curling, one pressing against your clit
you coming undone, clenching around him, and him still goingโ"i am not finished with you. you can give me more."
after, when you're trembling and breathless, his tendrils still inside you, still holding you, still filling youโlike he never wants to let go
belly/throat bulge. he is MASSIVE. impossibly so. his form is elongated, otherworldly, and that extends to every part of him. when he fills you, you feel it.
you looking down and seeing the bulge of him through your stomach, the outline of his cock pressing against your belly
his tendrils curling inside you, the visible movement under your skin, like he's claiming you from the inside out
him pressing his hand against your lower stomach, feeling himself move inside youโ"you can feel me, can't you? i am everywhere."
you choking, gagging, trying to take him down your throat and the bulge of him sliding against your neck, visible, his
the way he watches your face when you feel him, see him, know how deep he isโ"you are so small. so perfect. taking all of me."
him pressing gently on the bulge, making you gasp, making you feel yourself full of himโ"i will always fit. i will always fill you. i will always be inside you."
orgasm control. he can read your body perfectly, such as your heart rate, breathing, etc. the tension in your muscles. he knows exactly when you're close. and he decides when you're allowed to fall.
his tendrils wrapped around you, stilling your hips, holding you right on the edge
"not yet," he projects. "you will wait for me."
the way he freezes you in place with his psychic hold, your body trembling, desperate, completely at his mercy
"now," he says. and you shatter.
after, he holds you through it, whispering in your mindโ"so beautiful. so perfect when you let go."
aftercare. such a non-negotiable. he holds you after. wraps you in his tendrils like a cocoon. checks your temperature. soothes you with silence and presence.
his tendrils wrapped around you, holding you close, his blank face pressed to your hair
"you are safe," he projects. "you are warm. you are with me."
the way he monitors your heart rate, your breathing, your temperatureโmaking sure you're okay
you curled against him, his fingers stroking your hair, his presence surrounding you
"rest," he whispers. "i will watch over you. i will always watch over you."
hard no: disobeying the rules. he is order. structure. expectation. when he sets a rule, like "stay here," "don't speak," and "wait for me", meaning he means it. defiance isn't playful to him; it's chaos. it's the static he's spent centuries trying to control.
if you break his rules, he doesn't get angry. he gets cold. distant. you'll feel the temperature drop, the silence deepen, and you'll knowโyou've disappointed him.
and disappointment from something that has existed for centuries, that has killed thousands, that has never cared about anyone but you? that's worse than anger. that's losing his fucking approval, his attention, presence, like don't do it. (lmfao, it's giving daddy issues, idk why)
"you are exquisite. i have never encountered anything like you."
โ ๐๐พ๐ ๐๐๐พ๐๐ฝ๐
yes, dada himself! so tim's kinks are rooted in trust. he's spent so long not being in control of his own body, his own mind, his own actionsโthat with you, he needs to feel chosen. like you want him, not what he can do, not what he is. just him. tired, broken, trying.
praise kink. huge. massive. he won't admit it, but when you tell him he's good, he melts. he's been told he's a monster, a weapon, a liability. you telling him he's doing well? that he's making you feel good? that he's yours? he'll do anything to hear it again.
you on your knees, looking up at him, and whispering, "you're so good to me." his whole body shudders.
"that's it, baby. you're doing so well." his hips stutter. he's close. your voice pushes him over.
after, when he's shaky and vulnerable, you card your fingers through his hair and murmur, "i'm so proud of you." he hides his face in your neck so you can't see him cry.
"whose are you?" you ask. "yours," he breathes. "always yours."
every time you praise him, he gets harder. needier. desperate to hear it again.
smoking play. there's something about the way he looks with a cigarette between his lips. the slow drag, the way his eyes half-close. the smoke curling around his face like a veil. he'll hold it to your lips, let you taste the smoke on his tongue. he likes watching you choke on it just a little. likes the control of it.
him taking a long drag, then leaning in to exhale the smoke into your mouth, it's giving slow, intimate, filthy
the cigarette between his lips while his hands are busy elsewhere, the red glow bobbing as he works you open with his fingers
you on your knees, his hand in your hair, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he watches you take him
him putting it out on his own palm just to see you flinch, just to prove he can take pain too
the taste of him when he kisses you, smoke and mint and him, and you can't get enough
daddy dom (dilf). it's not about age play here people, like it's about the energy. he's tired, worn, but so capable. he takes care of you. makes sure you eat, sleep, feel safe. in bed, that translates to a gentle authority. "let me handle it. i've got you." the way he says it makes you want to obey.
him guiding you onto his lap, hands firm on your hips, voice lowโ"you know what i want. show me how good you can be."
you calling him "daddy" by accident, and the way his eyes go dark, the way his grip tightens. "say it again."
him taking control when you're too overwhelmed to thinkโ"shh, i've got you. just feel. i'll take care of everything."
the way he checks in, constant and softโ"you okay? still with me? tell me what you need."
after, holding you close, his voice a low rumble against your hairโ"you did so good. i'm so proud of you, baby."
outdoor sex. something about the risk of it makes tim feel alive. the cold air on your skin, the rough ground beneath you, the way he has to keep you quiet. somewhere the operator's static can't reach.
you pressed against a tree, his hand over your mouth, hips driving into you, so the bark rough against your back, his breath hot in your ear
the back of his truck, windows fogged, the bed cold beneath you, his body the only source of heat
you on your knees in the grass, looking up at him, his hand in your hair, like nothing but sky and him
the way the cold makes you feel everything more, meaning every touch, bite, and whisper
after, wrapped in his jacket, shivering, him murmuring "told you i'd keep you warm" against your hair
spit kink. he doesn't do it to degrade youโhe does it to claim you. spitting in your mouth, on your skin, between your thighs. it's primal. possessive. "look at you. taking everything i give you." it's intimate in the dirtiest way.
his hand on your jaw, tilting your face up, spitting into your open mouth and you swallow
him spitting on his fingers before sliding them inside you, watching you gasp at the wet heat
you on your back, his spit landing on your stomach, then his mouth following, licking it off like he's tasting you
"open." you do. he spits. you take it. his eyes go dark. "good job."
the way he gets rougher when you take it without hesitationโlike it proves you're really his
overstimulation / over-orgasms. he wants to see you break. wants to push you past your limit, watch you shake, hear you sob his name. he'll keep going until you can't remember your own name until you're nothing but sensation. then he holds you through it.
his mouth on you long after you've come, tongue relentless, your hips trying to escape and him holding you down
"one more," he murmurs against your skin. "you can give me one more."
your fingers in his hair, pulling, begging, sobbing and he doesn't stop until you're destroyed
the way you clench around nothing, overstimulated and empty, and he fills you again, just pushing you right back over
after, you shaking against him, and he just holds you, whispers, "i've got you. you're okay. you're so beautiful like this."
squirting. tim discovered this by accident and now he's obsessed. the way you lose control, the sounds you make, the mess you leave. he'll work you with his fingers, his tongue, his cock, pretty muchanything to get that reaction. he drinks it down like a man dying of thirst.
his fingers curling inside you, that specific spot, watching your face as you realize what's about to happen
the first time, the shock on your face, the way you try to apologize and he just groans and goes back down for more
"do it again," he demands, voice rough. "i want to see you do it again."
him on his knees between your thighs, mouth open, waiting, so like it's a sacrament
the wet sound of it, the way you soak him, the way he revels in it like he's been given something sacred
soft impact. he's not into causing pain, more like he's into the sound. the slap against skin. the way you gasp. the red flush that follows. he'll spank you just to hear it, just to watch the color bloom. he's always gentler after.
you over his knee, his hand coming down on your assโthe sound sharp, your gasp sharper
watching his handprint bloom pink on your skin, then red, then purple the next morning
"count," he says. you do. each number broken by a gasp, a whimper, a plea.
the way he soothes you after, just kissing each mark, rubbing the sting away, whispering apologies even though you asked for it
"too much?" he asks, voice soft. "tell me if it's too much."
aftercare. non-negotiable. tim wraps you up after, holds you, mumbles apologies for being too rough even when he wasn't. he needs to reassure himself he didn't hurt you. he needs to feel you warm and safe in his arms.
him pulling you against his chest, his face buried in your hair, breathing you in like you're oxygen
"i'm sorry," he murmurs, over and over. "i didn't hurt you, did i? tell me i didn't hurt you."
you telling him you're okay. that you liked it. that he was good. his whole body slumps with relief.
him carrying you to the bathroom, washing you gently, kissing every mark he left
curled together after, his hand stroking your back, his voice a low rumbleโ"you're so good to me. i don't deserve you. but i'm not letting you go."
hard no: hard degradation. tim has spent his whole life being told he's a monster, a weapon, and just broken thing. he's been dehumanized by the operator (slender man), by his own mind, by the things he's done. when he's with you, he NEEDS to feel like a person. calling him worthless, mocking him, treating him like he's nothing?ย
that's not play. that's deadass reopening wounds that never fully healed. he can't handle it. won't handle it. he'll shut down, masky will surface, and you'll lose him for hours. don't.
"i love you. i know i don't say it enough. but i love you."
โ ๐ท๐๐พ๐ถ๐ ๐๐ฝ๐๐๐ถ๐
ah yes, him. let's see.. brian's kinks are rooted in play. he's been serious his whole lifeโthe mask, the job, the weight of everything, yet with you, he gets to be light. he gets to chase, tease, push buttons just to watch you push back. he likes earning it. likes the fight. likes the moment you stop fighting and just... take it.
brat taming. brian LOVES when you talk back. when you sass him. when you make him work for it. the chase, the back-and-forth, the moment he finally pins you down and you stop fighting. baby, that's the good stuff. he likes earning it.
you mouthing off just to see his eyes darken
his hand wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, just holdingโ"what was that? say it again. i dare you."
you trying to escape and him dragging you back by your ankles, laughing
"you're such a brat," he murmurs, and there's so much affection in it
the way he grins when you finally submit like he's won the best prize
fun fact! the first time you talk back, he goes still. then he laughs, low tone. "oh, you're gonna be fun."
impact play. spanking, light slapping, whatever lands. he likes the sound. the way your skin flushes. the way you gasp. he'll check in constantly thoughโ"too much? tell me if it's too much." he's careful, even when he's not.
you over his knee, his hand coming down again and again, watching the red bloom
the way he soothes the sting after, palm flat against your heated skin
"count," he says. "you're gonna count every one."
the flush on your skin after? he'll trace it with his fingers, almost reverent
"look at that," he murmurs. "so pretty when you're marked up."
face slapping. keep it light and controlled (unless he asked you to go harder). just enough to make your head turn, to make your eyes go wide. he watches your face after, checking, making sure you're still with him.
his palm connecting with your cheek, gentle but firm
the shock in your eyes, the way your breath catches
"you okay? yeah?" his thumb tracing the spot, soft and careful. "good. now open your mouth."
you whimpering, opening for him, and the way he groans like that's the best thing you could've done
"such a good slut for me," he whispers, and it sounds like worship
edge play. he'll get you close, then stop. over and over and over, like you catching what i'm saying? just watching you squirm, beg, fall apart. he loves the desperation in your voice. the way you say his name like a prayer.
his mouth on you, tongue working you toward the edgethen pulling away
"not yet. you can wait."
you sobbing, "please, brian, pleaseโ"
him grinning, sharp and satisfied. "you're so pretty when you're begging."
the way he finally lets you cum, like it's a gift, like you earned it
mirror sex. he wants you to see yourself. wants you to watch what he does to you. wants you to see how beautiful you look when you come undone.
him behind you, holding your chin, forcing your gaze to the mirror
"look at you. look at what you do to me. look at what i do to you."
you watching his hand slide down your stomach, between your thighs
the way you look when you come, face flushed, mouth open, eyes glassy
"that's it. watch yourself fall apart for me."
biting. shoulders, neck, thighs, the inside of your wrist. prettyb much anywhere he can reach. he leaves marks like signatures. you wear them like souvenirs.
teeth sinking into the curve of your neck, hard enough to bruise
you gasping, arching into him
him soothing the bite with his tongue, slow and deliberate
"wear it. i want everyone to know."
the way he groans when you ask him to leave more
praise + teasing. "you're so cute when you're needy." "look at you, taking it so well." "my good littleโ" he'll never finish the sentence. he wants you to wonder. he wants you desperate for the end of it.
you on your knees, looking up at him, and he just smiles
"you're doing so good. so good for me."
"my good littleโ" he stops. grins. "guess you'll have to wonder."
you whimpering, needing the word, needing the praise
him laughing, soft and warm. "so needy. i love it."
roleplay. not full scenes, more like just dynamics. stranger at a bar. rival proxies. anything where you push back and he has to win you. it's not about control, deadass it's about the thrill of being chosen again.
you pretending you don't know him, and him playing along
"you're not supposed to want this. but you do. don't you?"
the chase through the house, him catching you, pinning you
you fighting back, and him loving it
"say you're mine." "make me." and he does.
filming sex tapes. he wants to watch it later. wants to see you from every angle. wants to hear the sounds you make when you forget he's watching.
him setting up the camera, making sure the angle is perfect
"say my name. i want to hear it on the playback."
you forgetting the camera is there, getting lost in him
him watching it later, touching himself to the sound of your moans
"look at you. so beautiful. so mine."
cnc (consensual non-consent). he needs you to fight back. needs the struggle, the resistance, the moment you submit. but he'll check in constantlyโcolor, safe word, eyes locked on yours.
you pushing him away, and him catching your wrists
"tell me if it's too real. tell me and i stop. you know i will."
you fighting, and him overpowering you but always, always checking
the moment you stop fighting, the moment you choose to submit
"color?" he asks, breathless. "green," you gasp. he keeps going.
gun + knife play. the cold metal against your skin. the thrill of it. he's careful, always careful, but the danger is part of the rush. don't you think?
the flat of the blade against your throat, cool and sharp
"don't move. just feel it. feel how close i am."
you trembling, breathing shallow, and him whispering, "that's it. so good for me."
the barrel of his gun pressing against your hip, your thigh, your stomach
"you trust me?" he asks. you do. you shouldn't. but you do.
boot grinding. he'll press his boot between your thighs, watch you squirm against the leather. the pressure, the friction, the texture. he likes watching you chase it.
his boot pressing up against your core, rough leather against sensitive skin
"you want it? show me. use my boot like you mean it."
you grinding against him, desperate and shameless
him watching, eyes dark, hand in your hair
"that's it. take what you need."
degradation. not cruel, uhh more like just... knowing.
"you're so desperate for it. look at you, falling apart over nothing."
"you'd let me do anything, wouldn't you? anything at all."
he says it like a compliment. like you're beautiful for wanting it.
"such a good slut," he murmurs, and there's so much affection in his voice
you whimpering, needing more, and him giving itโalways giving it.
hard no: emotional withdrawal. so brian can handle a lot, you know the whole impact, edge play, bratty backtalk but what he can't handle is you going cold. shutting down. pulling away emotionally in the middle of it. he needs to know you're still with him, still present, still wanting this. if you disconnect, if your eyes go distant, if you stop responding, he panics. starts questioning everything.
"did i go too far? did i hurt you? do you even want this?" he needs your warmth, engagement, and presence.
lmafooo, part me wanted to write him like a bitch, excuse my langage but growing up, NEVER took toby seriously. regardless, he's given grace for now.
so! toby's kinks are rooted in grounding. his body is constant chaos of tics, adrenaline, the endless hum of static in his skull. and then there's his CIPA condition (deadass an anon remined me he has this so i'm fixing my mistake NOW).
since the congenital insensitivity to pain that means he can't feel what heย shouldย feel. can't register burns, cuts, bruises like everyone else. his body is numb in ways it shouldn't be. so with you, he needs intensity that cuts through the static. something sharp enough to make him feelย real.
pain play. since toby can't feel pain the way you do. but he knows what itย looksย like,ย soundsย like. he's watched enough people break to understand the line between pleasure and suffering. and with you, he's careful. so careful. "tell me if it's too much. i mean it."
he'd rather stop than hurt you for real. he knows what real pain looks like. he's seen it too many times. he'll never cross that line with you.
nails dragging down your back, leaving red trails that bloom into welts, just something he watches the marks appear, fascinated by the way your skin reacts
teeth sinking into the soft meat of your shoulder, hard enough to bruise, not hard enough to break skin. he knows the difference. he's learned.
his palm connecting with your ass, over and over, watching the skin flush, listening to you gasp
you on your knees, his hand in your hair, tugging just enough to make your eyes water
"color?" he asks, voice rough. you say green. he goes harder. he needs to hear it. needs to know you're still okay.
overstimulation. he wants to see you break. wants to push you past your limit and catch you when you fall. he'll keep going until you're sobbing, shaking, completely wreckedโthen hold you through it.
his mouth on you long after you've come, tongue working you through the oversensitivity until you're crying and pushing at his head and begging him to stop
his fingers inside you, relentless, curling against that spot, watching you fall apart again and again
"one more," he murmurs against your skin. "you can give me one more. i know you can."
you're shaking, sobbing, trying to escape, and he just holds you thereโgentle but firmโand takes you apart piece by piece
when you finally break, he catches you. wraps around you. whispers, "i got you. i got you. you did so good."
breeding kink. possessive. primal. "want to see you full of me" energy. it's not actually about pregnancy (you'll never CATCH me writing about that shit, no disrespect)โit's about claiming. marking. the intimacy of it. making you his in the most basic way.
him behind you, one hand on your hip, the other pressed flat against your lower stomachโfeeling himself move inside you
"take it," he grits out, voice breaking. "take all of it. want you full of me."
pulling out just to watch it drip down your thighsโthen pushing it back in with his fingers
the way he groans when you clench around him, pulling him deeper, keeping him there
afterwards, holding you close, hand still pressed to your stomach, whispering "mine" against your skin
pet play. he wants to be yours. completely. wants to shed the weight of being a proxy, a killer, a broken thing, and just be something simple. something that belongs.
him on his knees, head in your lap, waiting for your hand in his hair
"good boy," you say, and he meltsโeyes fluttering closed, body going slack against you
you putting a collar on him, just for play, just for the weight of it around his throat
him nuzzling into your neck, making soft needy sounds, wanting to be pet and praised and kept
"whose are you?" you ask. he answers without hesitation. "yours."
mommy kink. ahh, he deadass gives soft, needy, and vulnerable in bed. we all know heย has a mom and misses her deeply. so with you, he craves that warmth. that softness. someone who takes care of him, who calls him good, who holds him when he's too much.
him resting his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, while you stroke his hair
"you're so good for me," you murmur. he whimpers. presses closer.
you guiding him, gentle hands, soft voiceโ"that's it, baby. you're doing so well."
him calling you "mommy" when he's too far gone to think, too broken to filter himself
soft top + service top. he would like a soft top. someone who takes control without being harsh. someone who leads with gentleness. and he's a service top in returnโhe wants to make you feel good. needs to. it's how he proves he's worth keeping.
you on top, guiding him, setting the paceโslow, deep, intimate
him asking, "is this good? tell me what you need."
you tying his wrists to the headboard, just enough to keep him still, and watching him squirm
him going down on you for hours, not stopping until you're shaking, because your pleasure is his purpose
"please," he begs, when you're in control. "please, i needโ" and you give it to him, because you know exactly what he needs.
impact + praise. "you're doing so good. taking it so good. just a little more, yeah? you can do it." he needs to hear you're okay almost as much as you need to hear it.
you on your stomach, his hand coming down on your ass, each smack followed by, "you're doing so well"
him gripping your hips too tight, leaving bruises, and whispering, "look so pretty like this. all marked up. all mine."
you crying out, and him soothing you immediatelyโ"shh, shh, you're okay. you're taking it so good."
after, you telling him he did good, and watching his whole body relaxโlike your words are the only thing that can quiet the static
pegging. (LMFAOOOO!) he loves it, craves it. begs for it almost every night. for toby, being pegged is about more than pleasure. it's about surrender. giving up control to someone he trusts completely. letting you see him broken and raw and needy.
the postions can be on his stomach, or you on top of him with his face in the mattress, just your weight pressing him down. or his ass in the air, his face buried in the pillow, you behind him. orrrr in your lap? you know, him straddling you, riding you, his head thrown back.
AND against the wall too! his back to the wall, your hands on his hips, pushing into him. (sorry got carried away hereโhaving too much fun)
him on his hands and knees, face pressed into the pillow, back archedโwaiting for you
you behind him, the harness strapped around your hips, the weight of the strap-on pressing against his entrance
"please," he whispers. "please, i needโ"
you pushing into him slowly, watching his back arch, listening to the broken sound he makes
the way he clenches around you, the way his whole body shakes
you setting a rhythmโslow at first, then faster, then harderโand him sobbing into the pillow
"you're doing so good," you murmur. "taking me so well."
his hand reaching back, gripping your hip, trying to pull you deeper
you holding his hips, thrusting into him, watching him fall apart
the way he comes untouched, just from you inside him
oral (giving or receiving) i'll say he's obsessed. both giving and receiving. the intimacy of it, the vulnerability, the way it makes him feelย wanted. plus the little shit loves blowjobs, he's definitely a fucking head pusher, always wanting more lol.
giving (going down on you) he'll spend hours between your thighs if you let him. hours. he loses track of time.
the way you taste, the sounds you make, the way your fingers tangle in his hairโagain this alone is all he needs to feel grounded
he's messy. sloppy. desperate. he doesn't care about damn technique he cares aboutย you. about making you feel good in his own weird ass way.
"please," he murmurs against you. "please let me. i need to. i need to taste you."
when you come, he doesn't stop. keeps going, keeps lapping, keeps drinking you down until you're shaking and pushing him away
he looks up at you with those desperate eyes, chin wet, and whispersโ"again? please? one more?"
receiving (you going down on him) the first time you take him in your mouth, he almost cries. not from the sensation from theย intimacyย of it.
he can't feel pain, but he can feelย pressure. warmth. the way your tongue moves. the way you look up at him with those eyes.
he's so sensitive. so responsive. every sound you make, every movement, sends him closer to the edge
his hand finds your hair, not pulling more lick fucking pushing your head down so he at least feel his cock at the back of your damn thought needing something to anchor him.
"you're soโfuckโyou're so good at that. how are you so good at that?" "t-toby!" to this day you have to remind him about the head pushing.
when he comes, he sobs. actually sobs. it's too much and not enough and he can't handle it and he doesn't want you to stop
he pulls you up after, kisses you messily, tastes himself on your lipsโ"i love you. i love you. i love you so much."
and to throw in there for shits and giggles, he adores sixty-nine method.
his favorite. your weight on him, his mouth on you, your mouth on himโeverything all at once
the way he moans into you when you take him deeper
you both chasing it, both desperate, and completely undone. horny fucks
clingy aftercare. very much non-negotiable. he's so fucking NEEDY after. wraps around you, buries his face in your neck, whispers "you're okay, i got you, you're okay" until he believes it.
him refusing to let go, even when you need water, even when you need to clean up
his face pressed into your neck, breathing you in, grounding himself in your smell
"don't leave," he mumbles, half-asleep. "justโstay. please."
you running your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, watching him melt
him apologizing for being too much, for being needy, for being himโand you kissing him quiet
hard no: being ignored (or dismissed). toby's entire existence is just stright noise. dealing with the tics, pain, adrenaline, the endless hum in his skull. when he's with you, he needs to feel seen. he needs your focus, your responses, your presence. if you look away, if you go quiet, if you treat him like he's too much or too broken, the static gets louder.
he starts to spiral. he's already convinced he's a burdenโdon't prove him right. he needs your voice, your hands, your attention. without it, he falls apart.
"you're soโfuckโyou're so perfect. all of you."
holy shit, had to do ton of re-reseach on kate again. totally forgot her personality, (sorry baby girl)
lastly, we have kate's kinks, which again little hard to figure out yet can see her rooted in control. not in a cruel way more like in a "i know exactly what you need and i'm going to give it to you" way. she's spent so long chasing, surviving, adaptingโwith you, she gets to set the pace. gets to decide when, how, how much. and you trust her enough to let her.
orgasm control. kate loves telling you when you can come. loves watching you hold back, the strain in your face, the way you tremble. the way your whole body tenses like a wire about to snap. "not yet. wait. wait." she means it.
her fingers inside you, slow and deep, and you're so closeโbut she stops. just stops. watches you whimper.
"look at me," she says. you do. she holds your gaze while she starts moving again. "don't come until i say."
you begging, actually begging, and she just smiles. "not yet. you can wait a little longer, can't you?"
when she finally says "now," you shatter. and she watches every second of it like it's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.
after, she strokes your hair and murmurs, "so good for me. you waited so well."
wax play. she loves the heat. the way it pools on your skin, the sharp sting that fades to warmth. the way you flinch and then relax.
a candle in her hand, tilted just so, watching the wax drip onto your stomach, your thighs, your chest
you gasping at the heat, and her cool fingers spreading it across your skin
"stay still," she says. you do. the wax lands exactly where she wants it.
her lips following the trails, kissing the heat away
peeling the hardened wax off your skin, slow and deliberate, watching you shiver
mild restraint. wrists pinned above your head, ankles held down. not full bondageโjust her hands, her weight, her control. she likes having you completely at her mercy.
her on top of you, one hand pinning both your wrists above your head, the other doing whatever she wants
you trying to move, and her weight pressing downโ"where do you think you're going?"
her fingers inside you, slow and torturous, while you're completely trapped beneath her
"you're not going anywhere," she murmurs. "i'm not done with you yet."
the way she holds you there, keeps you there, until you forget how to think
teasing. she'll take her time. so much time. whispering in your ear, trailing her fingers over your skin, watching you squirm. "what's wrong? you seem... distracted."
her mouth on your neck, your collarbone, your chestโavoiding where you want her most
her fingers ghosting over your thighs, so close, never quite where you need them
"you want something? tell me what you want." and you do, and she smiles, and doesn't give it to you
her breath hot against your ear, whispering all the things she's going to do to youโlater. when she's ready.
the way she watches you fall apart from just words, just promises, just the anticipation
sensory play. blindfolds, headphones, textured fabrics. (don't ask how, go with it) she wants to isolate one sense so the others go haywire. she wants to watch you fall apart with just touch and sound.
a silk blindfold over your eyes, the world gone dark, and her voice the only thing you can hold onto
headphones playing soft static, drowning out everything except her hands on your skin
silk ties around your wrists, soft and smooth, you could escape if you wanted toโbut you don't
you trying to anticipate her next touch, and her laughing softlyโ"you have no idea what i'm going to do next, do you?"
the way she watches you try to guess, try to predict, and fail every time
praise + soft degradation. "you're so good for me. so pretty when you beg." not mean just knowing. she knows exactly what she does to you. she wants you to know it too.
"look at you. so desperate. so pretty like this."
you begging, and her smilingโ"that's it. i love it when you beg."
"you're taking it so well. such a goodโ" and she leaves the word hanging, letting you fill it in
her thumb pressing your lower lip downโ"open. let me see how much you want it."
when you whimper, she coosโ"aw, was that too much? you can handle a little more, can't you?"
hair pulling. just a little. gripping the back of your head while you're between her thighs. gentle, guiding, hers.
her fingers tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to make you look up at her
you on your knees, her hand on your head, setting the paceโfaster, slower, exactly what she wants
"good," she breathes, and tugs a little harder. you moan. she smiles.
the way she holds you there, keeps you there, until she's satisfied
after, she strokes your hair like an apology, like a reward
nipple play. she's obsessed. she'll spend hours on your chest if you let her.
her mouth on you, tongue flicking, teeth grazing, until you're arching into her
her fingers rolling, pinching, tuggingโwatching your face twist with pleasure
"so sensitive," she murmurs. "i love how responsive you are."
ice, then heat, then her mouth againโkeeping you guessing
you fully naked, her fully dressed, and she's just playing with your chest like it's the most interesting thing in the world
biting. shoulders, neck, thighs, anywhere she can reach. she leaves marks like signatures. you wear them like souvenirs.
her teeth sinking into your shoulder as she comes, the sharp sting of it
leaving bruises on your thighs so you can press on them later and remember
"wear my marks," she says against your skin. "i want everyone to know you're taken."
the way she soothes each bite after, tongue flicking over the indents like an apology she doesn't mean
you finding new marks in the morning, and smiling, because they're hers
rough housing. so you know pushing, shoving, wrestling. the feeling of her weight on you, your body pinned down, your breath trapped under her. it's not real angerโit's play. it's trust.
you trying to push her off, and her holding you down easier than you expected
the struggle, the breathlessness, the way she grins when she wins
her hands holding your wrists, your thighs, anywhere she can grip
"try harder," she teases. "is that all you've got?"
after, both of you breathless and laughing, and she kisses you soft because she knows
scissoring. now kate, WILL always give lesbian. this is not negotiable (as the writer). and scissoring? this is her religion. she loves the intimacy of it. the way your bodies press together, the way she can feel every tremor, every gasp, every time you clench against her. she loves watching you fall apart beneath herโand she loves knowing she's the one doing it to you.
you on your back, her thigh between yours, grinding against you slow and deliberateโwatching your face twist with pleasure
her on top, legs tangled with yours, her cunt pressed against yours, the friction building and building
"look at me," she says. you do. she holds your gaze while she moves, while she takes you apart.
the way she adjustsโfaster, slower, harder, softerโreading your body like a map
you coming undone, crying out, and she doesn't stopโkeeps going, keeps grinding, keeps you falling
after, when you're both breathless and shaking, she kisses you soft and whispersโ"so good for me. so pretty when you come."
pet names. "baby," "sweetheart," "good girl/boy/job baby." she says them like a promise. like you're hers and she's never letting go.
"there you go, baby. just like that."
"you're so good for me, sweetheart. so perfect."
"good girl," she murmurs, stroking your hair. "you did so well."
the way the names sound different when she says themโlike they're yours alone
after, when you're half-asleep, her voice soft and warmโ"i've got you, baby. rest now."
aftercare queen. she's SO soft after. blankets, water, food, lazy kisses. "you did so good. i'm so proud of you. rest now."
her wrapping you in a blanket, tucking it around your shoulders like you're precious
water, pressed to your lips, her hand on your cheekโ"drink. you need it."
her carrying you to the bathroom, washing you gently, kissing each mark
you curled against her, her fingers tracing patterns on your skin, not rushing anywhere
"i'm so proud of you," she murmurs. "so proud. you were so good for me."
hard no: losing control. kate has spent her new life just adapting, surviving, chasing. control is how she stays saneโhow she keeps herself and everyone else alive. in bed, she needs to be the one setting the pace. the one deciding when, how, how much.
if you try to take over, if you push her out of the driver's seat, she shuts down. not angry, just... gone. left somewhere you can't reach her. girl as trust issues, like she doesn't trust anyone else to handle the wheel, and she's not about to start with you.
"you're not going anywhere. i'm not done with you."
iyayadonna, all rights reserved. โ โห แญเฝฒเผแฏเพ ๊ฉ ใโ .แ
โ ๐ถ/๐: letโs play pretend that i have been writing creepypasta stuff lol itโs been such a long time, so letโs see if i still go it or i completely lost it. so we starting small, plus iโm testing a semi-new layout as well! and don't worry there will be secoud one with already preselected list
